


Ribs

by Fangirl_Shrieks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 39,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_Shrieks/pseuds/Fangirl_Shrieks
Summary: "Air is like television cable; you don't appreciate it until it's gone." OR Annabeth Chase knows there are a million ways to die—drowning, accidental (or purposeful) stabbings, brain-eating amoeba, etc. When her dad sends her to Florida to stay with her cousin over summer break, she runs into a sea-legged, green-eyed boy, and suddenly the potential sun damage is her least concern.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	1. Islamorada

**Author's Note:**

> From fanfiction. :)

If someone asked, Annabeth would probably say she likes her head attached to her shoulders and not decapitated, sprawled pathetically on her vinyl floors.

And it's probably _because_ she likes her head where it should be that there are no lights in her room because _of course_ germs are drawn to light.

And that's why she's sitting in the dark on an uncomfortably warm Sunday afternoon in summer vacation. Alone.

It's moments like these when she's sticky from the sweltering, thankfully dry heat of Silicon Valley when she wonders if she really should've had a ceiling fan installed, but then she remembers that, according to Electrical Safety Foundation International, more than 19,700 people a year are injured by ceiling fans that are improperly mounted or incorrectly sized, and yeah she's pretty sure she can install a goddamn ceiling fan without fatally, spontaneously dying—she's seventeen, and she's not stupid—but then she also remembers that her head does good things like keep her brain inside, thinking, impressing, and she's not really willing to take that chance.

And she also knows everyone in her neighborhood thinks she's a little crazy: George who lives down the street told her she should "live a little," even though he has most crackly smoker voice she's ever heard on a eighteen-year-old, so what the hell does he know; and Antoinette, Beatrice's grandmother, who goes to Friday Bingo Nights at the local pub puts her dentures back in every time she sees Annabeth, telling her she would have a boyfriend if she wasn't such a neat-freak; and her dad indianFrederick Chase reminds her that youth goes by quickly, and she should probably seize the day, even though he literally works like he's addicted to it, making him the world's biggest hypocrite; and everyone at her school likes to talk, not that she's listening anyways because she's too busy worrying; and even her cousin Magnus, however kind, thinks she's a little off her rocker, but she's also seen him eat falafel off the ground, so he can keep his opinion to himself; and also she doesn't really give a fuck what other people think.

Because Annabeth knows there are a million ways to die. There are the classics—car crashes, drowning, getting shot, falling off a cliff, accidental (or purposeful) stabbings, and then there are more "fun" variations—brain-eating lake amoeba, food reheated in plastic containers, scratched teflon pans, x-rays at the dentist's office, raw oysters, and so, so many more. That's why being careful is of utmost importance, even if it means she has to give up riding her bike down the street, hanging outside, and sugar-loaded milkshakes at the local diner.

She likes to tell herself she doesn't need the extra carbs anyways (most forms of exercise are extremely dangerous).

But then she's sitting in the dark at four in the afternoon, slowly melting like the wicked witch of the east, and, even if she likes to take pride in possessing more maturity in her little, pinky finger than teenagers her age contain in their entire bodies, she feels a little lonely, comforted only by the knowledge that she is as safe as she possibly can be.

Then the big hand on the radio-controlled clock on her wall hits 12, and it's already five o'clock, and she's sat here for an hour, worrying if she disinfected her door handle thirty minutes ago, or if she forget, and—

Annabeth thinks she could perhaps eat half a popsicle if it meant she wouldn't feel as shitty as she did now. The pink ones always look pretty anyways. She closes her eyes and thinks of popsicles, of maybe trying strawberry, and then she remembers she did indeed forget to sanitize the handle, and the spell is broken.

She fishes through her hoard of Clorox wipes and begins to clean, migrating from the handle to _everything_ because if she's already cleaning, why not?

She doesn't notice when the big hand passes six.

…

Annabeth peeks over the edge of her screen-protected tablet, drawing her nose away from the CDC updates—she ritually checks them every morning while Frederick reads the morning newspaper, sipping on his coffee every couple of minutes.

But this morning is nothing like the calm she usually knows.

"You can't be serious."

Her dad smiles wearily, ruefully, and she feels momentarily guilty. "July begins next week, Annabeth," he says patiently. "You'll get to spend July 4th down there! It's fun," he assures her. "I loved my childhood."

Annabeth swallows noisily. She also fucking knows her dad never speaks with their relatives anymore, but she doesn't say anything. She also knows they always spend July 4th together, no matter what. Always. And it hurts.

"So what, you're just shipping me off to the middle of nowhere because…? I swear I just applied for three summer internships, and I can take care of myself, but for the love of god please, _please_ don't send me there. It's hot, and it's… touristy, and there's a bunch of _crazy_ people."

Frederick rolls his eyes. "They're not crazy."

She slams her palms down on the coffee table, and the brown liquid in his mug ripples across the surface. "Are you kidding me?" She's aware she's slightly screaming, and she probably sounds hysterical, but she is not about to start chilling with the fishermen. She can already imagine their overly tanned, seriously damaged skin which means skin cancer, obviously, and their sweaty faces, and their muddy palms, and just _no._ She likes Silicon Valley very much, thank you.

Annabeth's perfectly manicured nails tap against the glass screen, and she holds up the glowing page for her dad to see. "Florida accused of attacking girlfriend with banana, Florida couple 'trapped' in unlocked closet for two days, Florida man caught on camera licking a _doorbell._ " She stares at the last article a little too long before ripping her eyes away and glaring down at her dad in exasperation.

He sighs, tipping his head to one side. "Look, kiddo. With my job promotion hanging on the line, I thought it would be good for you to destress. Islamorada is actually a big tourist destination, and it's beautiful and relaxed, and there's so much history down there. You'll love analyzing the downtown area."

Annabeth bites her lip, fighting a losing battle against her rapidly-expanding frustration. It balloons in the pit of her stomach, and it feels like she swallowed something wrong with the lump in her dry throat. "Don't pin this on your job," she spits acidly. "We both know this is so you can hang out with that new date of yours."

Her dad stares at her in silence, and her jaw twitches in irritation.

Alice Kim and her two perfect, amazing sons.

And Annabeth's just the product of a failed marriage, the imperfection in a soon-to-be flawless family, and now her dad's sending her away so she's not an embarrassment to the Chase family name. Annabeth has never missed her mom like she has now.

"Don't make this about her, Annabeth."

"Don't make this about her?" she explodes, uncurling her fists at her sides. She reaches up to massage her temples; it's much too early to be unraveling the deep-rooted fucked-up-ness of her family and her childhood. "It's always been about her, dad, or some other lady. It's always been about the fact that you could never keep a woman, and you grieved, and you were too busy coping, and you pushed me out of your life!"

Frederick's eyes are wide, and remorseful, and guilty, and apologetic—and she wants none of it.

"Whatever. I hope a shark swallows me." She feels a little melodramatic, but she's sick of her father claiming to be in love, only to get his heart broken, only to neglect her more than he already has her entire life. Athena left _six years_ ago. But Annabeth's here now, and sometimes… sometimes it really doesn't feel like it. Annabeth grits her teeth together, daring her dad to say anything to assuage this situation. But he can't. Because he _knows_ she's right.

Annabeth leaves her half-cold cup of tea on the counter and swiftly scoops up her tablet before storming into her room upstairs to pack. After all, she seethes, she only leaves in two days.

…

When Annabeth walks out of Miami Airport on July 1st, the first thing her uncle notices is her hair.

It's not exactly her fault she looks like an estranged version of Diana Ross; it's just the Florida humid heat. It clings to her skin like a wet blanket, and her hair is frizzy, and on the plane ride the man next to her would _not_ stop snoring, and when her bizarre Uncle Frey cracks a smile, ready to make a joke, she just scowls at him.

Uncle Frey is a nice guy. She _knows_ he's a nice guy. (Though, in all fairness, anyone's nice in comparison to Uncle Randolph). He has a lovely wife Natalie Chase, and their son is pretty cool too, but they're very… hipster-esque. Annabeth doesn't know how else to put it. All she knows is that her uncle really likes sage and some other botanical stuff, and Magnus' parents like to bond in the garden like starry-eyed, boho lovers. And it's weird. Natalie even kept her maiden name of Chase (which Annabeth totally understands), and Magnus just ended up getting his mother's name because she's the one who carried his heavy ass for nine months, and Frey Alfheim just thinks it's super funny.

"I haven't seen you since you were ten!" he exclaims, and he crushes her in a hug. His blue eyes twinkle with excitement. Oh and he has like shoulder-length hair and a carpenter's beard. It's certainly a change from Silicon Valley.

Annabeth reluctantly accepts the hug, but even she must admit her uncle is the warmest person alive, and in some ways it's a relief to the cold, awkward dynamic of her own family.

"Nine, actually," she gently corrects, but his smile doesn't falter in the slightest. Hers does, though. The last time they met up in good circumstances, they met in Boston at Uncle Randolph's house for the last Chase family annual June reunion. She had been eight. And then she saw them once more when she was nine at a funeral, and then there were no more family reunions after that.

Frey helps her with her bags for which she is incredibly thankful. Because she's staying until the end of August, until school starts, she's had to pack a shit ton of stuff, and that means weight. Annabeth's pretty strong, but two heavy suitcases and a backpack are enough to drown her.

They make their way to his car. It's a mojito Jeep Wrangler with an open top, and Annabeth _has_ to roll her eyes. It's such a Frey car, and it's kind of funny in all honesty.

"Something funny?" The corner of Frey's mouth curves up in amusement, and Annabeth doesn't resent her dad any less for sending her here, but by god she's missed these people.

She hides a smile. "Nice car," she says instead, and Frey laughs.

"Welcome to the south, kiddo," says Frey, and it sounds so much like her dad _before_ the incident that it hurts.

She carefully hugs her backpack to her chest despite Frey's persuasions for her to put it in the back with the rest of her bags. The open top is dangerous too; she swallows her anxiety.

The wind blows in her hair as they drive, a welcome change from the sticky heat, and she watches the colorful, summer-y buildings of downtown Islamorada pass them by. The view is gorgeous as they coast down the cracked roads: the water sparkles in the sunlight like it's sweating, glistening, cool in the hot Florida air, and it's bluer than anything she's seen in a long time. She's forgotten how beautiful, how vacation-esque this peaceful village is. Civilians entertain themselves with watersports, and they drive past the shorelines, passing laughing people in wetsuits. Big, white boats sit near the docks, still in the mildly lapping water. She watches with mild fascination as a middle-aged woman rides a wave like it's an extension of her limbs, a home away from home.

Annabeth's not even thinking about the vile sea creatures, the dangers of surfing, only awestruck with her easy grace. Besides, she already put on sunblock before coming out of the airport; she's safe for at least two hours.

She people-watches and inspects the charming architecture of Florida. Everyone here is tan, and many people's hair have lightened to blond highlights. They sip of alcoholic, fruity mixed drinks, laughing, and she feels nostalgia for a childhood she's long forgotten.

She already did her research before coming, especially now that she's old enough to appreciate it fully. Islamorada's known for its spectacular coral reefs, and they have a Theater of the Sea with dolphin encounters. Obviously, she checked out the museums too. Exhibits at the History of Diving Museum include a 16th-century treasure, and she fully intends to check it out sometime during her stay. Windley Key Fossil Reef Geological State Park is a former quarry; Lignumvitae Key Botanical State Park has tropical forests; Indian Key Historic State Park is a tiny island with 1800s ruins, and that includes shipwrecks. So maybe she is coming around to the idea after all, not that she'd ever admit that to Frederick.

"You've paled, kid," Frey says, trying to make conversation.

She offers a wan smile. "Yes, well. UV rays and all that."

"You live in California."

"I'm more an indoors person," she explains, and she jumps when her uncle chuckles. "Don't laugh at me!"

He grins sheepishly. "I can't help it, Beth. You've just changed so much since I've seen you."

"Well, it's been seven years. People change in seven years."

A slight frown mars his usually serene expression. "I suppose." He pauses. "We've missed you," he adds with hesitation, eyeing her out indirectly through the car mirrors to gauge her reaction.

She swallows a lump in her throat, looking out at the sandy beaches. All she can think about are crabs, and her irrational fear of spiders, and how much crabs resemble spiders. All she can think about is herself, nine years old and wide-eyed, unable to comprehend, but old enough to know when her life is falling apart around her. Old enough to know she needed, _craved_ a family's love so deep the ocean would be jealous.

"How's Fred?"

"He's the same as always," she mutters.

"Still?"

Annabeth regards Frey coldly. "Some things never change." She purses her lips. "And some people do." She's thinking of her mom, of how she just walked out of her life without another thought forever, the emotions crashing into her like the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

She had thought the water was beautiful, blinded by the shimmery surface, but she had also forgotten the nature of the sea. She is not foolish enough to believe there is no danger because the water is calm now. She knows storms can come out of nowhere, and she also knows waves are not measured in units—not feet, or inches, or meters, or whatever the hell else someone would use to measure the monstrous tides.

Frey doesn't say anything else as they drive to their house, silenced by Annabeth's truth.

Waves are measured in levels of fear, and if basking in her fear will keep her safe, then she has never been more willing to stay ashore.

…

"Annabeth!" Magnus is the spitting image of his father. He doesn't have a beard, obviously, and his hair is a tad shorter, reaching the bottom of his jaw and falling into his grey eyes, and it's the vibrant, trademark Chase buttery blond. He's seventeen now, and he's finally taller than her, and she's turning seventeen in eleven days, and she still remembers when they were little, and all of the cousins would conglomerate underneath the dining table at the family reunions, just talking.

He crushes her in a hug, and she doesn't care where he's been because she's just missed him _so_ much. She closes her eyes, inhaling the scent of his coffee-colored shirt, and he resembles herbs and the Earth, just like his parents, and he's practically a brother—but he never will be. Annabeth pulls away.

Magnus grins at her. It's clear summer agrees with him, and his hair is damp like he just showered.

"Hi," he says like he saw her last week or something, and something like relief melts away the lingering voice in her head.

"'Sup, yourself, you giant," she teases, forcing confidence, and she ruffles his hair, and he scowls, and it feels like the old days.

"How are you liking the weather?" he laughs, pointedly looking at her hair, and she shoves him away playfully. He helps drag her stuff through the skinny screen door, and they're both sweating from the effort, but she doesn't mind so much.

They collapse at the kitchen counter, and Malcolm offers her some lemonade which she gratefully accepts.

"Where's your mom?" They sit inside the guest bedroom—her bedroom now—and peer out the open windows. There's a ceiling fan going above them, but she bites her tongue to keep from protesting. Magnus would never let anything happen to her, right?

"Gardening." Malcolm juts his chin toward the backyard. Annabeth curiously peeks past the thin, angel white curtains, and sure enough Natalie is squatting over coreopsis flowers. There's a big, wide-brimmed hat sitting on her pixie haircut, and it casts a shadow across her face, protecting her from the sun. Smart woman. She looks like a fairy, her green eyes bright and young, and she looks so much like Frederick that Annabeth feels at home, even in this home she never meant to visit. A lemon tree hangs off to Natalie's left, the branches bowing low to the ground with the heavy fruit.

Annabeth watches as Frey enters the garden, and Natalie stands up, grinning from ear to ear, and Annabeth feels that dull, familiar longing for something more, for a family that actually talks to one another, for a bond like the one Magnus has with his parents.

"You want to shower first, or do you want to hit downtown first?" Magnus stands up, taking her empty glass from her.

"Downtown?"

"It's almost two. The fishermen will be back soon, and I like getting first pick."

"We're having fish?"

"Annabeth, when do we _not_ have fish?" Malcolm half-smiles, and she relaxes. He has that power over her, over the whole world it seems. "C'mon, you haven't seen the market since you were little."

She rolls her eyes, a muscle in her cheek twitching. His excitement is contagious. "I'll shower _after_ you coat me with disgusting fish germs," she says, already redoing her hair to get rid of the hideous, frizzy mess.

He laughs. "Fresh fish smells like clean water, idiot. It's that frozen shit that's gross."

"You're gross."

He offers nothing more than a wry grin. "Asshole."

…

"In hindsight, I didn't think it'd be that small."

They stare at the tiny red bike in front of them like it holds all the answers to life. There's a Green Power Ranger sticker on near the rusty chain, and a National Geographic pouch attached to the back wire, and a Nemo horn.

"I still can't believe you're making us go by bike."

"Everyone bikes or walks. It's not that far."

"Then let's walk," Annabeth argues. "You said it yourself. It's for single-digit kids, Magnus, not teenagers."

He frowns. "No way. Walking will take longer, and I need a basket to carry the goods. You can use Mom's." He pulls out a seafoam, tall bike with a white wicker basket in the front. It looks like the stereotypical, aesthetic bike littered across Snapchats coming from Venice, Italy, and the Caribbean, and the coastline of California.

The seat is dusty, though, and there is no way in hell she's getting on it.

"Hell no."

"The tires are still inflated! You're not going to _die_ , Annabeth." And then he freezes at his poor choice of words.

Annabeth's mouth goes sour. "There could be spiders on it!"

"There aren't spiders on it."

"Over 800 cyclists die per year." She stares icily at him.

"Over 7 billion people live on this Earth."

"Shut the fuck up. I'm not getting on that death trap."

"It's not a motorcycle! You can, you know, _control_ it."

"We're walking," she declares, and that's that. Magnus had never been able to out-argue her, even growing up. "And I'm taking an umbrella."

"No umbrella. Umbrellas are only when it's raining, and I refuse to walk next to a stuck-up old lady, using a goddamn umbrella because of the _sun._ Final offer."

She scowls. "You're going to fuck up your skin."

"I prefer my skin charred," he snips. "Like roasted pineapples."

"You're so _fucking_ weird—"

He shoves her out the garage door, and she finally acquiesces, following him, but not until she's reapplied sunscreen and (forcefully) applied it to Magnus as well.

"You shouldn't worry so much. Have I ever let you get hurt before?"

She tries to relax her forehead to not give her away, but her forehead creases on its own, stuck in shades of incessant worry. "No," she murmurs, albeit petulantly.

"Well, then."

She crosses her arms over her chest as they go, Magnus' flip flops obnoxiously slapping against the cement sidewalks. Everyone keeps telling her not to worry so much, that she's just fine.

But they thought her brother, Malcolm, was just fine too, and Malcolm died.

…

"That is _disgusting._ "

"City girl," Magnus snorts derisively.

"Excuse me for not burying my hands in fish—I swear to _god_ I will break your fucking jaw!" Annabeth hastily backs away as her cousin waves handfuls of Mahi, Yellowtail Snappers, Blackfin Tuna, and Amberjacks. He laughs hysterically, the psycho.

"You see this, the gills are blood red, just how you want them."

"Magnus!" She reels in disgust. She does not want to be closer to a dead fish's face than she would be to a human.

"Touch one," he dares, grinning like a madman.

"I will beat you with your own fish."

"You can't even touch it. Wuss."

"Don't test me, motherfucker." But she's smiling, in a better mood than she's experienced in… in at least a couple years. It's a sobering realization. "In my defense, their eyes are staring into my soul."

"What soul?" he mocks, snorting, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

A fisherman heaves fat nets onto shore as people clamor about, quickly buying the fresh goods.

"I'm going to see if I can't find some oysters," says Magnus, balancing on his tip-toes to scan over the crowd of people. "Do me a favor, Beth. You see that?" He points to a small, run-down shop on the corner of the street. "Can you get some butter before I forget? We'll need it for dinner tonight." He fishes in his pocket for a five dollar bill, handing it to her haphazardly. He's occupied, trying not to drop the fish as he dumps it into a cloth bag he brought with him.

"What kind?"

He blinks. "I dunno, man. Just butter."

She bites the inside of her cheek, unnerved by lack of direction, and before she can ask anything else like how many or salted or unsalted, Magnus' eyes light up. She can only assume he spotted the oysters as he runs off, leaving her stranded and conflicted.

Warily she approaches the store. It's tiny like it's family owned or something, and the steps are littered with sand. Stepping over the piles of grains, she enters the shop.

In the entrance, there are two large glass cases, halfway filled with frozen drinks, ice cream, and popsicles. Ice freezes in tips on the top of the containers and the sides of the freezer. There are shelves stocked with candy, and that's it, and then she spots a dairy section at the other end of the layout. She opens the fridge door, picking out some organic-looking Irish butter. Then she grabs another one, thinking better of it. Magnus didn't tell her how much.

There is nobody else here; at least, that's what she thinks until a butch girl with stringy, brown hair and a red bandana wrapped around her forehead pops up in front of her face, nearly giving her a heart attack.

"You should buy our new keychains," she grunts, gritting her teeth. "Great for kids. Little siblings." She eyes Annabeth's sides like a little kid's going to appear from thin air.

Annabeth blinks. Laughter ensues from further in the store. She takes a few steps to her left to see the checkout counter.

A teenage boy with curly brown hair, freckles dotting the bridge of his nose, and wide, warm brown eyes looks at her with sympathy. He's kind of short, standing behind the counter, and he has bad acne, and he's wearing cargo shorts and a bright blue tourist t-shirt that says _Welcome to Islamorada!_ enthusiastically in canary yellow. She cringes. It's probably nothing short of humiliating to model the shirt in the shop's window all day. She can only assume he works here.

Then her eyes land on the source of amusement. Draped lazily across the counter from the customer side is another boy. He's lean, athletic, and gloriously golden with a natural tan. He displays his pearly white, neat teeth in a crooked, trouble-maker smile, and he's drinking something, sitting across from the brunet in a tall chair he's undoubtedly pulled up to the counter. He has unruly black hair that falls a little into his eyes, and it's a disgrace to humanity, and at first Annabeth thinks he's just messy, but at closer inspection it seems that's just the way he is—laid back and… charming. Most unique, however, are his eyes. They're a dazzling sea-green, the very shade of the cool water outside, and if she looks enough, she almost drowns in them like one would in the water. They seem to swirl like mini-waves, and she's never seen anything like it. He's sporting Magnus' choice of footwear—impractical dark flip-flops, clean white board shorts (which are much better thank those god-awful cargos), and a dark, forest-green t-shirt. _AHS Swim Team_ curves across the cotton.

Annabeth feels her cheeks heating up from both the heat wave that hits her and the eyes of three people staring her down.

"You've really got to learn to pick your victims better before harassing them, Clarisse," he drawls, glancing between the brawny, tall girl and Annabeth. He smirks at Annabeth with thinly veiled amusement, and the blonde feels her heart palpitating wildly in her chest. She kind of wants to smack the smug look off his face, even if she doesn't know what it's for.

"Shut your trap, Jackson," Clarisse, Annabeth's deduced, snaps, moodily stomping behind the counter. The boy with curly hair is also wearing a nametag with _Grover_ scrawled messily on the card. He backs away out of reflex, and Annabeth can tell the Clarisse girl intimidates him, at least a little.

Jackson laughs at Clarisse's sour mood. He sips at his drink—a vivid pink hue swirling in the cup. "She's not even _close_ to a tourist. Look at her."

All three heads turn to her again, scouring every inch of her body, making her feel stupidly self-conscious. Annabeth awkwardly shifts her weight onto her other leg.

"How am I not a tourist?" she finds her voice, tilting her chin up. She's not, of course, but what could possibly give her away? She _obviously_ doesn't belong here. Annabeth slides the butter onto the counter, and Grover rings her up. She quickly counts the change, holding it awkwardly; women's wear never has fucking pockets.

"Well, you're not very smiley," Grover meekly points out, watching with mild fascination at how efficiently she counts her money.

Annabeth scoffs at his audacity. She doesn't think he means any harm by it, but you still shouldn't just _say_ that to customers. "It's called a resting bitch face," she says coolly before she can stop herself, and Grover draws back, the tips of his ears turning red. "And it's not like you guys are particularly inviting either," she says, pointedly glancing at Clarisse.

"Told you you should smile," Jackson gloats, and Clarisse reluctantly hands him a crumpled five-dollar bill which he pockets.

"Sorry," Grover mumbles. "I didn't mean to offend you."

She sniffs indifferently, unperturbed. "Whatever."

"I actually just saw you with Magnus," Jackson reveals, halting her before she leaves with his words. "You guys have similar features." He shrugs one shoulder. "I can only assume you're the cousin he mentioned was coming."

"You know him?" Annabeth can't disguise her surprise. Her eyebrows shoot up and she waits expectantly.

"Know him? I sell him fish all the time." Jackson rolls his eyes. "Nice family." He eyes her suspiciously. "You're not what I was expecting, though, based on the way he described you."

Annabeth stiffens. "Well, this town isn't exactly what I was expecting earlier. It's… small."

"California," Clarisse realizes, laughing. "Do you really drink green smoothies every morning?"

Jackson frowns at Clarisse critically, and she shuts up. Jackson, Annabeth realizes, is the only one who can control her.

"You sell fish? Why aren't you out there?" Annabeth gestures vaguely behind her to the door.

Jackson obnoxiously scrapes his chair backwards, causing the wood on cracked tile to shriek, echoing throughout the quaint store. Annabeth grimaces at the sound. "My dad is. I'm just a fisherman's son, Chase."

Grover chuckles nervously. "Percy's just being modest. He's the best fisherman and the best sailor of our generation. He won the annual yacht race when he was eleven."

Jackson shoots Grover a withering glare, and Annabeth blinks, soaking in the information like a sponge.

"Percy?" She tests his name on her tongue and finds she quite likes the way it tastes. It suits him a lot more than 'Jackson.'

"Percy Jackson," he clarifies, correctly detecting her confusion.

"Oh. Well, I'm Annabeth."

"I know."

She feels warm again when he half-laughs, like he can't quite commit to the amusement, but he still finds her funny. Of course he knows. Magnus probably told him everything.

"I'd better get going," she says instead, interrupting whatever the hell this is. She doesn't really know what to make of any of them.

"So soon?" Grover says, surprisingly wistful.

"I—Magnus is probably waiting for me." She sounds apologetic, but she can't be more relieved. There's something unsettling about all of them, and she doesn't quite fit in, and she'd like to go back to comfortable territory with her uncle and her aunt and her cousin and nobody else.

Grover shrugs, smiling sadly. "It's just been a slow day. There'll be more customers later once we begin frying fish, but I'm bored."

"And new people are always intriguing," Percy says, eyeing her curiously. "When they're not ditzy tourists, that is."

She can't tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or not. Percy's odd, she decides. They all are.

The butter's softening in the heat. "It was nice meeting you all," she tries, and she holds the dairy close to her chest so she doesn't drop it.

"Sure," Percy agrees, but his voice is a little off. He frowns into his drink, looking down at the counter.

"See you around, Annabeth!" Grover calls after her as she makes her way for the door.

She sincerely prays she'll never have to see any of them again. She already gawked at Percy long enough for it to be awkward, snipped at Grover (though he was way out of line), and caused Clarisse to lose money somehow.

Grover bleat-laughs at something Percy says as she leaves, and she can't fight the nagging feeling that they're talking about her and her nerve, even if it's irrational, as she leaves.

Annabeth's acutely aware of Percy's eyes following her figure as she slips out into the Florida sun once more.

…

"What took you so long?" Magnus grimaces. Beads of perspiration pool at his hairline, and Annabeth feels slightly guilty.

"I got lost," she lies lamely.

Magnus shoots her a look. "I was literally standing outside the store. There's no way you didn't see me."

She sighs in resignation. "Fine. The weird kids in that store were talking to me."

His demeanor shifts entirely. "Is Percy in there?"

"Why?"

"I wanted to ask him when more shrimp's coming in. C'mon, let's—"

"Can't we just go back?" Annabeth desperately asks.

"What?"

"It's hot," Annabeth mutters. She can't bear to see Percy again, especially not so soon after their cringy interaction. "And the butter's starting to melt, and my sunscreen's going to wear off."

"I guess," Magnus relents, a proper host despite himself. He looks at her oddly before ushering her down the sidewalk. They cling to the sides, relishing the stores' visors as they go, their shadows long and alien in the sunlight.

…

They sit outside for dinner, freshly grilled, buttery seafood laid out in front of them. It's cooler now with the sun set but still warm.

Annabeth smells like mosquito repellant. It's not like she _wants_ to douse herself with it, but she doesn't want to get a disease, and if that means coating herself in it twice, then so be it.

"You should take Annabeth to the beach," Frey tells his son, picking up another oyster from the bowl in the center. Annabeth honestly can't remember the last time she sat down with her dad and ate dinner together.

"Oh… that's okay, really," Annabeth tries, her eyes darting in between Magnus and her uncle.

"Nonsense. Magnus is going surfing tomorrow morning with his friends, right?"

Magnus bobs his head in agreement, but he's more preoccupied with the Mahi in front of him, and his mouth's stuffed, too busy to say anything. She thinks Magnus might be food-sexual.

"No, really," says Annabeth again. "I really don't want to." She can feel her palms becoming clammy and sweaty, and this time it's not from the heat. It's not that she's _afraid_ of water; she just doesn't like it.

Natalie glances up at Annabeth, her expression gentle. "Magnus is a good swimmer," she assures her niece.

"I have no doubt he is."

Magnus glances up, mid-chew, as if he's finally realized they're discussing him. He swallows hastily, nearly choking as he coughs, and then hastily takes a gulp of water. And that's exactly why Annabeth chews twenty times, counting it out in her head, before swallowing. She's not trying to get something lodged in her throat and die.

"They always have lifeguards," Magnus says calmly.

Annabeth frowns. They're just all dancing around the subject, and just because they don't say it out loud doesn't make it any less true.

"That's not my point."

"You can't come to Florida and not enjoy the water," Frey insists. "And you know how to surf. You surfed so well when you were a kid!"

"Well, I was younger then. I haven't surfed in at least nine years, and we have water in California, and surfers too I assure you." She's mildly aware her hands are trembling. She doesn't want to talk about this. She just wants them to let it go and let her wallow in her guilt. "Besides, I was planning on visiting the Botanical State Park tomorrow."

"You have all summer to visit the park," Frey reasons. His eyes shine with sympathy and understanding and _pity_ , and Annabeth hates it. She refrains from saying something she'll regret later. He thinks he knows her, thinks she's still the same delusional little girl she once was, but she's different now. She's grown up, and she knows why she refrains from certain activities, and she doesn't need him or anyone else for that matter trying to push her into something she doesn't want to do. He doesn't know what's best for her, and he can't fix this. He can't change history. He can't bring Malcolm back.

"I have all summer to surf." Annabeth narrows her eyes at him across the table, setting down her fork.

Natalie and Magnus watch with wide eyes as she and her uncle square off, their exterior hardening defensively. It looks like a pissing contest, in all honesty.

"The park is great," Magnus agrees softly, gently leaning towards Annabeth. She appreciates his support, she really does, but she can do this by herself. Natalie reaches an arm out and gently touches Frey's forearm as if to restrain him, to silently castigate him.

Annabeth's eyes don't leave Frey's, though. Her uncle's an easy-going dude, but this just isn't his place, and the sooner she establishes it, the sooner everyone will leave her the hell alone.

"Magnus can help reteach you surfing," Frey dares to say.

Annabeth grits her teeth. "I still remember how."

"Excellent, so it's a non-issue then."

"Frey…" Natalie warns softly.

"No, Natalie. She has to overcome this."

"Dad, stop. Let her be." Malcolm shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Annabeth's fists ball up uncomfortably.

"That's not your decision to make," Annabeth says harshly, schooling her expression and glaring daggers at her uncle.

"What would Frederick say if I called him? He told me to try and help you explore the best parts of Florida. The water is inevitably the greatest attraction."

"It's not my father's decision either," Annabeth hisses. "No matter what he thinks, I don't actually blindly follow his every whim."

"Annabeth, you don't have to go in the water." Natalie tries to find a happy medium, but Annabeth's an all or nothing kind of girl, and she won't be swayed so easily, especially not after her uncle's irritating insistence.

"I'm not going, and that's final."

Frey scowls at her.

"Call my dad, go ahead," she challenges, and there's a glint of competition in her eyes; she's on fucking _fire_ , and she pities anyone who dares cross her when she's in her element. Annabeth casually laces her fingers together, resting her chin on her folded hands.

Frey doesn't move a muscle.

"That's what I thought." She can't fight the tinge of superiority in her voice. They can think she's a bitch if they want, but it's just a social construct to oppress opinionated women, and she will not bow to anyone, not here, not now, not ever.

"Malcolm would want you to be happy," Frey whispers, and Annabeth stands, glaring daggers at him.

"Dad!" Magnus stands too, infuriated.

"You don't know _shit_ about Malcolm," Annabeth curses, and it feels good. She wants to throw it onto a banner, and wave it about for the world to see, for her dad, for her nosy relatives, for everyone who thinks they know her.

Frey's mouth falls open, and Natalie glares at her husband. Soon they're all standing around the wooden table, the atmosphere tense and overly-warm.

"Malcolm died, plain and simple," Annabeth explodes, and it hurts so fiercely. She claws down the tears threatening to surface, choking over the emotion in her voice.

"Annabeth." Malcolm's voice is shaky and raw, and Annabeth can't even bear to look at him because she knows if she does she _will_ cry, and she refuses to break in front of her aunt and uncle.

"He drowned in the fucking water when he was only _eleven,_ and there was a lifeguard, and people were there, and nobody could _fucking_ save him. He was eleven; he didn't deserve that shit! He had his whole life ahead of him, and there is no going back on what's done. I don't have a brother anymore, and that's just how it is." The words feel heavier on her tongue than she could have ever anticipated.

Natalie's tearing up, probably thinking of her late nephew. Annabeth doesn't look at her. She knows she's the reason she's crying, and she loves her aunt, she really does, and she can't handle it right now.

"I'm only here because Frederick forced me to be, or I'd still be back home with my friends, and my room, and my internship, and my boss. If I'm going to be here, I'm doing everything on my _own_ terms, do you understand me? Or I'm flying straight back to California, and _you_ can explain to my father why I'm back so soon, Uncle. If I said I'm not going by the water, then I'm not, and that's final. Don't you dare tell me what I must or mustn't do. Have I made myself clear?"

Annabeth still remembers sitting by his side, watching as they tried to revive him, bawling her eyes out, afraid, and then she remembers the light dying from his eyes. She sees him all the time, smiling, laughing in her dreams. She sees his face, young, and his toothy smile everywhere she goes. And she knows that face will never age.

Frey falls quiet. "I'm sorry for overstepping my bounds."

She doesn't acknowledge his apology, simply brushing her hands off and taking her plate inside and carelessly putting it in the sink. Magnus and the sound of his parents arguing follow her into the house, and Magnus slams the patio door shut, blocking out the sound.

"I'm really sorry, Annabeth. I didn't know he'd say that shit, I—"

Annabeth holds up a quivering palm, silently begging him to stop. She slouches over the counter, bending at the waist, and resisting the overwhelming urge to burst into tears.

Magnus obediently falls quiet.

Annabeth rakes her fingernails through her hair, relishing the pain that comes with it; it's a painful reminder she's still alive when others aren't. She desperately misses the busyness that comes with Silicon Valley. When the world moves around her so quickly, it's easy to go with the current, lost in cultural and scientific earth-shattering breakthroughs, and in the people who move around her, protecting her with their hustle and bustle way of life. She can step back and be part of a people, and feel surrounded instead of dwelling in the loneliness that crawls up her hollow chest when it's dark out; she can be one in a million, nobody important, a faceless figure of society.

Here in the sleepy, little coast of Islamorada, she stands out. People look at her, and she can feel them undressing all her darkest secrets, laying them out bare next to their tall plates of seafood to devour. They have more time on their hands, and they leave her to torture herself mentally over and over and over and over again, and they inspect her critically, tearing her facade to bits, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. It hurts tenfold under the public eye. It doesn't help that she's shiny and new, and in a place where everyone knows everyone, she sticks out like a sore thumb.

She needs something to _do_ , something to keep her busy, something to keep her mind off all she's lost through the years, and all she's turned her cheek to.

Magnus knows her better than even her dad, even if he hasn't seen her in years. It's like he has an uncanny ability to sense what people are feeling. "Hey, I forgot to get milk this afternoon."

That's a lie. She stills anyways, listening.

"Do you want to maybe go and get it?"

"Alone?" she whispers.

"If you want, but I can come if you want me to," he offers, his voice gentle. He keeps a safe distance from her, but instead of keeping a gap like he's afraid she'll murder him like most people do, she feels he's doing it because he _knows_ she wants space, and she's grateful.

"I can go alone." She tries to swallow the anxiety that comes with the danger of getting lost or something, but she has her phone if she needs it. She just really doesn't want to be around people right now.

"If you get chocolate sauce too, maybe we can make chocolate milk and watch some TV?" He's unsure.

She forces a tiny smile, and it feels so fake that she hates herself for it. "That sounds great. Is the corner shop still open down by the market?"

"Yeah. There's closer stores, but I don't want you to get lost, so… so maybe it's best if you just go there."

"Yeah, okay," she mumbles. She'll be grateful for the walk and the space to think. "Thanks," she adds as an afterthought, and Magnus grimaces.

"I'm coming after you, though, if you aren't back in an hour."

"Mhm," she dismisses his concern, pocketing her phone and reaching for her canvas shoes. She shakes them out for scorpions like Natalie used to remind her to do when she was younger and happier, and then she's out the door before Magnus can send her into a fresh round of tears.

…

Alone, she can't help the tears from pooling in the wells of her tear ducts as she walks, pulling a light hoodie over her head. It's cold down here when night falls, what with the water so close by, and her bare legs are freezing in shorts, but changing meant staying longer in that house with arguing adults—a memory that hits too close to home—and a sympathetic cousin who means well, too well, and makes her want to erupt in ugly sobs, not the cute sniffles of cartoon characters.

Annabeth's memory is impeccable, and she finds her footing quickly. She recognizes the downtown area, and it looks so different at nighttime, nostalgic almost. There are the typical diner lights flashing about, and the liquor store is deserted across the street.

She turns a corner, and the scrawny shop is still there at the very end of the street. She pushes the glass door open, the tacky bell jangling above her.

There's a redhead in overalls standing behind the counter now. She has frizzy, red hair, and Annabeth totally gets the struggle of humidity mixed with curls. They share a look of understanding, and Annabeth is relieved none of the people from this afternoon are here to hassle her.

"Hi," she grins at the blonde. "Can I help you?" If she notices the slight, lingering puffiness around Annabeth's eyes, she doesn't say anything.

"Oh no, I'm sure I can find it myself," Annabeth politely turns her down, making a beeline for the milk. She grabs plain milk, searching for chocolate sauce as she scans the sparing aisles.

"Hey, Rachel, do you have any bandaids…?" a familiar voice falters as it trails off, and Annabeth looks up, a package of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in her teeth, half a gallon of milk in her left hand, and a bottle of Hershey's chocolate sauce in her right.

She stares at him wide-eyed, very much aware she looks ridiculous, and also very much aware of his bloody hands.

"What happened to you?" Percy gapes at her red-rimmed eyes.

Annabeth puts down the candy package on the counter as elegantly as one can using just their mouth. She sets the jug of milk down too, and it rattles against the table. Rachel, she deduces, springs into action, bandaging up Percy's hands like an expert.

"I could ask you the same thing," Annabeth says, her voice tight.

Percy's at a loss for words. "I don't look like I just cried out Niagara Falls."

"And I don't look like I murdered a man," she shoots back, and his lips twitch, but there's concern lingering on his face.

"Seriously, though." He looks away from Rachel's skillful touch, glancing up at her.

Rachel rings her up next, and Annabeth is grateful when she offers her a bag. She's not sure she can keep that candy package in between her teeth the entire walk home, and she now knows why Magnus always takes a sack with him when he comes to the shops.

"I'm serious too," says Annabeth, deflecting the hint of worry in his voice like an expert.

"I asked first."

Rachel awkwardly watches them go back and forth before Annabeth bends. "I need to go," she says instead, heading to the door, but Percy only follows her, much to her surprise.

"Why is that, exactly?" Percy ponders aloud as they stroll down the sidewalk, and he must have the warmest blood in the world because he's still in shorts and a t-shirt, and he's not shivering at all. Annabeth has cold blood even in a sweatshirt. "You always seem to be running around, having somewhere you need to be. Is that a California thing?" he teases.

She doesn't say anything, hoping he'll leave her alone if she ignores him enough.

"I'm only kidding," he says, thoughtful. "I was born in New York. Hustling's kind of our middle name."

Now she looks up at him in surprise. She never would've pegged him for a city boy, not with the ease he carries himself around Florida.

"I actually kind of hate Florida. Much too hot."

No wonder he doesn't feel cold. She can only shudder at the idea of northern winters.

"When did you move here?" she finds herself asking. Sue her for being curious.

"When I was seven," Percy tells her. He waits for cars before crossing the road, and she's comfortable with his long strides. He's only a couple inches taller than her anyways.

"No kidding?"

"Mhm. My parents are divorced, and my dad moved down here a long time ago, and my mom lives in Long Island."

"If you hate it so much, why don't you go back?" That explains it then. Long Island has plenty of fishing culture too, and it's home to some of the nastiest Great Whites, seeing as that's where they birth their pups.

"Trying to get rid of me?" He grins, but it's hollow, and she shrinks back, suddenly afraid. But he relaxes again. She doesn't even question how he knows the way to Magnus' house, assuming he just knows everything about this place. "My mom died when I was seven," he explains coolly, and his voice hardens, and she breathes out a sigh of relief because he's also raised by one parent.

"I'm sorry." His blunt honesty winds her, and Annabeth feels a lump growing in her throat.

"Me too." He shoves his hands into his pockets, and Annabeth doesn't miss the way he winces.

"Your hands hurt that bad?" she guesses, sympathetic.

He barely nods. "Well, that usually happens when a shark tries to bite your hands off."

Her eyes go wide with fear, her mouth hanging open in horror, and Percy's solemn facade cracks when he sees her face, and he laughs boyishly. It resonates in the dark, making her feel warm inside.

"I'm only kidding," he assures her, and she frowns. She doesn't like to be made fun of. "We _do_ have sharks, but they're mostly harmless."

"Mostly?"

He cheekily grins, and this time she doesn't feel as uneasy, almost like she's warming up to him or something. Disgusting. "Mostly," he agrees. "I mean if you provoke an animal, obviously it won't be harmless, but people are dumbasses."

 _That_ , at least, she can agree with. "Tell me about it," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "So what actually happened, wonder-boy?"

"I cut my hand on some sharp rock when docking a sailboat. It's no big deal."

"Oh."

"I was running from a particularly feisty man-eating mako shark, though, that wanted to bite my head off."

"Fuck off," she groans at his relentless teasing, and he smiles at the ground.

"So who broke up with you?" he mocks, and she resists the urge to smack him. He's a cheeky bastard, and someone needs to put him in his place.

"Nobody," Annabeth huffs, and he smirks at her blatant irritation. "Also, that's been used a million times. No, I don't have a boyfriend," she says dryly. "Satisfied?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?" he inquires.

"Percy!" And this time she _does_ shove him, and he dramatically stumbles, milking it and making a big show out of it.

"Relax," he laughs. "I wasn't even really asking if you had a boyfriend anyways."

"Sure." She doesn't believe him at all.

"But I'm not saying I don't find the information _intriguing_ ," he adds, confirming her accusations. Mirth dances in his eyes, and she can't fight the smile on her face. "But really, what happened?"

"Dumb uncles," she says as if that's a total explanation.

"No fair," he says at her evasive answer. "I told you about my dumbness with the rocks."

"Percy Jackson versus the rocks, the sequel," Annabeth sardonically narrates, and she follows him around the bend of the sidewalk. "Who will he fight next?"

"You, probably, since you're so adamant not to give straightforward answers."

She resists giving him the satisfaction of laughter and bites her tongue. But there's something about him, something open, warm, genuine that makes her want to tell him _something_ , even if she'll definitely spare him the harrowing bullshit of her past.

"I didn't want to go surfing tomorrow morning, and my uncle was very much in opposition to that. Cue argument, cue harsh words, cue dreary memories, cue tears," she briefly summarizes.

"Ah, the old emotional tug, I see." Percy nods.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"Not a clue. Why wouldn't you want to go surfing?"

She tenses; it's still a touchy subject. "Not a fan of water."

He laughs. "And you're in the Florida Keys? I've got to give it to you, Annabeth, you really know how to give irony a run for her money."

"I prefer to mess with fate," she says instead, ignoring the dark implications behind her words, but Percy thankfully doesn't ask.

"A witch?" he guesses. "Hermione Granger's long lost sister?"

She's surprised he even brings Harry Potter up. Half the people around her think books are stupid, and they'd only recognize that name from the movies.

"I would've never pegged you for a nerd."

"I'm not," Percy promises. "My mom was, though."

"I see. I think I like her a lot more than you then."

He clicks his tongue distastefully. "Already out to antagonize me, I see."

Annabeth shrugs. "Don't take it personally."

"You antagonize everyone?"

"Something like that," she mumbles, noncommittal.

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not really."

"That's okay. Neither am I."

She scoffs.

"Hey, it'd be super awkward if I wasn't carrying this entire conversation."

"You didn't have to walk me back."

"Who said I was walking you back? Who's to say I'm not going this way for my own purposes."

She stares at him pointedly.

"Fine, but my house is only a little ways away from here, so it's not entirely, inconveniently for you."

"Mhm," she says, and they both know she doesn't believe him at all, and he laughs. "This is me," Annabeth finally says, looking up at the lit-up blue-shuttered house beyond the thick of trees and bushes. It's white and lovely, and it's exactly the type of house she imagines would be on the front of a magazine to appeal to the tourists during the summer.

"It is," Percy agrees softly. "I guess I'll see you around?" he half-asks, hope tingeing the charismatic tone of his voice. "Though not at the beach, I've learned."

She bites her lip to hide a smile, and it's not her _fault_ this time, okay? He's just—he's a dork, clearly, but it's somewhat welcoming right now. "Maybe," she agrees, and she walks into the house, forcing herself not to look back, no matter how much she wants to. And she lasts too… until she goes to close the door, and then she just can't help herself. She peeks behind her one last time, and he's still there, standing on the sidewalk, watching her go. She ducks her head behind the door before he can see her smile to herself and lets the door close by itself.

…

Magnus, it turns out, makes the best chocolate milk. (How, Annabeth doesn't really now, considering it only requires two ingredients). She forces him to put less in her glass—sugar equals death, unfortunately—but it's still the best thing she's had in a long time.

"You know, I could have just bought the premade chocolate milk," Annabeth points out, brushing the crumbs of Magnus' truly horrifying Skittles creations.

"Yeah, but it tastes like crap," Magnus points out, and she grins. She can't exactly pinpoint if her good mood is the result of Percy, or Magnus, or a combination of both, but she doesn't tell him she ran into Percy at all, deciding to keep that minor detail to herself. If she does bring it up, Magnus will probably ask her if she asked about his stupid shrimp, or he'll ask why she's bringing him up, and she doesn't want to go there at _all._ (Mostly because she doesn't know herself, but whatever).

"Like whatever the hell this is." Annabeth coolly gestures to the sugar cookie bark. The too-runny frosting drips onto the floor ceremoniously as they both stare at it, and she snickers at his inability to do _anything_ kitchen-related really.

"Don't insult my cookies, you ungrateful heathen."

Annabeth's eyes glint mischievously with an idea. "You know what this reminds me of—"

"Don't you dare—"

"Remember when you were five, and your mom was grilling fish—"

"Stop. Stop it right now." The tips of Magnus' ears go red with embarrassment.

"And you thought it would be funny to melt Skittles, and—"

"You traitor! You promised you'd let it go." He pelts her with a red piece of candy, but Annabeth only throws five in return because they're both _really_ mature.

"And the entire smelled of smoke and burnt sugar like thirty minutes later, and Aunt Natalie just opens the grill, and there's a _cloud_ of smoke just rising out of the top like in the cartoons—"

"You're a terrible person."

"And then the fish was all rainbow, and you ate it because your mom was pissed, and you threw up so much, and I think I still have it on video, and I'm pretty sure you _murdered_ the flowers out front!"

Magnus makes a futile attempt to plug his ears, but he's laughing. "I hate you so much."

She laughs with him, relishing the way their voices blend, bouncing off the walls of his cluttered room. It's a hazard, really, Magnus' hoarding tendency—she's told him enough times—but he insists on keeping every single little thing to ever exist. Against a white-wood paneled wall, there's a messy collage of a million polaroids. They're overwhelmingly blue with the ocean starring in the background of almost every single one. Annabeth's pretty sure even she's in a few. There are varied shapes of seashells lined up haphazardly on his abandoned desk in the corner of the room, and there's a tall green surfboard propped up against the window wall. Even his mirror is shaped like a surfboard, and there are two paddles for a canoe bolted on the wall above the headboard, and there's a small hipster painted ukulele tossed on his unruly bed covers. Magnus is the biggest hipster she's ever met in her entire life; it's kind of funny, really.

"You need to clean this dump," she tells him, eyeing the trinkets and clothes lining the ground. "Someone could step on something."

"Well, I know where everything is," Magnus says smugly. "So as long as no one goes messing through my shit, they'll be fine."

"Are you going to stick to that when we have to rush someone to the emergency room with a surfer figurine impaled in the flat of their foot?" Annabeth likes to think of it as a gift, a honed talent, really, that she can spot fatal injuries before they happen. It makes her cautious, not crazy, she swears.

"I'll think about it." Magnus rolls his eyes, and she's suddenly aware of how often she also does that, and how related they seem when they do that. It's oddly reassuring, but for what she doesn't know. "Hey, what time were you thinking of going to the museum?"

They'd avoided bringing up the topic at all, but Magnus' fidgeting like he's been meaning to ask for some time now, and she takes pity on him.

"I wasn't sure. The afternoon, maybe?"

"Like three or so?"

"Yeah, I guess? What's up?" She sips on the chocolate milk as maturely as she can, unlike _Magnus_ who's been blowing bubbles in his glass for the past seven minutes—she even looked at the clock to keep track.

"I was thinking I could come too. Like I'll surf in the morning, take a shower maybe, grab some lunch, and then join?"

"I'm down," Annabeth agrees, her expression softening. She knows Magnus would never be caught dead at a tourist destination, and he's doing this for her since she doesn't know anyone else here, and it's thoughtful and considerate just like Magnus, and she loves him for it, she really does. "Want to go out for lunch since we'll already be out and about?"

"Hell yes," Magnus agrees quickly. "I know this _great_ place for fish and chips."

Annabeth peers at him with curiosity. As royally screwed up as dinner was earlier, the fish was kickass, and she's eager for round two. She doesn't really go out much, obviously, even back home, and she has yet to experience the diverse cuisines California has to offer. Not to mention, LA has some really good food, but the traffic is actually the worst thing to ever happen to humanity on the west coast.

"Alright," she agrees tartly, her mood slightly dimming with the thought of California haunting the back of her mind. Magnus correctly reads the shift in her demeanor, and they just look out the window silently as they finish up the cookies.

…

Annabeth obsessively cleans her room that night when she should be sleeping. She's not really sure what compels her to do it—she thinks it might be the nostalgia coming back to her now in this home she hasn't stepped foot in for so long—and she needs to dust the treacherous ceiling fan to keep her grounded.

Because nostalgia isn't as beautiful as people paint it to be. It's looking back on history with rose-colored glasses, and pretending the glasses don't blind you, and that's a dangerous road to go down. But… it feels so scary getting old, especially when she knows growing old is a privilege so many others are denied. And she doesn't feel more alone than she does now.

She longs for a brother—she can't help it. Annabeth's tried so hard, so many years to shove the memory to the darkest part of her mind, the part she cages in and pretends doesn't exist, but on nights like this when nothing feels quite right or quite wrong, and something so small and insignificant shatters inside of her when she thinks of the memories she's passed up, hiding in her room alone and afraid of growing close to someone else, afraid of dying, afraid of pain, afraid of letting down a dead brother who probably doesn't give a shit about her because he's _dead_ , she misses something.

She misses something, not anything in particular, but a life she could've had. She misses her friends, few but dearly cherished—Thalia, Piper, and Jason—and she misses feeling _normal._

Normal isn't something you can really define, but she's tried countless times.

Normal to her is surfing the waves like she used to; it's not fearing every possible awry outcome in the universe to ever exist; it's drinking cheap spirits with her friends and doing dares in a pool at two in the morning because that's part of what it means to be young—taking risks; it's not overthinking the little things; it's not analyzing every piece of what she's said to anyone all day and not stressing over it, ever calculating; it's being a little reckless, a little stupid, maybe a little drunk, and a little at war with life and a little in love with it too; it's being melodramatic and being a teenager to the fullest; it's sipping on cold drinks by the warm water; it's freckles, and tan skin, and cool sweat, and dancing, and singing terribly, and tipsy kisses by the edge of the water; it's feeling small but not minuscule of people at a concert; it's being part of being something bigger than yourself, and fitting in, and also standing out, and feeling forever young; it's laughing so hard your ribs get a little tough, and it's _still_ not enough; it's—it's something she'll never know.

Annabeth sits down in the center of the circular blue rug in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling fan with mild trepidation, a Swiffer in her hand.

The guest bedroom is entirely devoid of any piece of her. It's not that she didn't bring things she loves with her, but her books are still crammed in her bags, and her photographs are hidden away in the various zippers and compartments, and she doesn't want to see any of it, and she doesn't want to think of better times and better mindsets, and she just _breathes_ , sitting there on the rug. She feels like she's in the center of the universe all at once, and after staring at the fan long enough she feels a little dizzy, and she falls onto her back, spread-eagle like a starfish, looking up through the skylight and appreciating the twinkling stars around her.

She feels small, but… but it's not as bad as it used to be.

And then she remembers there's probably a crap-ton of germs on the ground before shooting up hastily and seeking comfort on the bed instead.

…

"That was the most boring thing I've ever done in my entire life."

Annabeth glares at Magnus as they sit at the boardwalk. It's much too close to the water for her liking, but he insisted it was the best view, and even if the water makes her a little uncomfortable, she has to admit he's right.

"This is terrible for you," says Annabeth, critically eyeing the fish in chips set out in front of them. The grease stains the flimsy cardboard container, but even she has to admit it's easy on the taste buds. Annabeth dips a fry into the tartar sauce before popping it into her mouth. It's still steaming hot, just like the weather.

"Live a little," Magnus tells her, leaning back against the wood. He's going to choke if he doesn't sit up right, and she eyes him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. He splashes his feet into the water lazily, closing his eyes and relishing the sun on his face.

It's moments like this that make Annabeth wish she was an artist. She would like to paint them like this, sprawled out in the sun, tasting summer on their tongues, pretending like they live life differently than they do, Magnus pretending he's unbothered by all of life even if he feels every so deeply, and Annabeth pretending she's fearless and badass and the type of girl who cruises down bumpy roads in halter tops and cut-off shorts on skateboards, sipping slushies and vibing to '80s music and wearing crazy, UFO-shaped sunglasses, and they pretend together they're not growing up too fast, and they're not leaving the best years of their life behind them. Annabeth's going to college soon, and it just feels so rushed, and she wants to sit back and hold his hand while they're growing up.

Magnus must feel it too because he peeks at her through one open eye, and he smiles, and the growing anxiety ballooning inside of her subsides even just for a moment.

"Magnus!"

Annabeth sits up quickly, and Magnus runs his fingers through his hair, lazily looking for the source of his name.

A boy in board shorts runs barefoot across the wood. Annabeth watches with disapproval; that's pretty much asking for a splinter. As he comes closer, she realizes it's Grover, the boy from the shop.

"Grover," says Magnus, smiling politely. "What's up?"

"Poseidon just caught a _monster_ s-shark." Grover seems equal parts horrified and at awe.

"No way?" Magnus is already standing up.

"Way," Grover confirms, smiling nervously at Annabeth like he's afraid she'll bite. She looks to Magnus and shrugs.

"C'mon," Magnus urges.

"Go see a shark?" Annabeth's eyes are wide. She's not exactly fond of sharks, and she's reminded of Percy's voice in her head: " _mostly harmless."_

"What type?" Magnus asks as the three of them jog across the sandy beaches. Annabeth's cautious not to trip.

"We're not sure yet," Grover bleats out as they run. He's panting heavily. "I thought it was a Spinner, but it wasn't jumping weird enough. It's putting up quite the fight, though."

Magnus' eyes widen. "How long?"

"Eleven feet, if I had to guess."

"Do you think it's…?" Magnus' face is ashen with shock, and Annabeth has no damn idea what they're talking about.

"Mako? God, I hope not." Grover trembles at the thought.

"What's wrong with makos?" Annabeth breathes harshly. Running through sand is harder than it looks.

"What's wrong?" Grover squeaks.

"Mako sharks are the _fastest_ sharks on the planet," Magnus says. "They can get up to 40mph, and they're probably the nastiest, most temperamental sharks in the Keys. And when caught, sometimes they'll leap to 20 feet or so."

Annabeth pales. "You mean in the air? Like vertically?!" A terrifying image of a large fish with snapping jaws and lethal teeth gliding in the air like a dolphin comes to mind, and Annabeth shivers.

Magnus nods grimly. "They can get super close to boats and people on board because of it, and they're usually offshore sharks, but they attack even unprovoked. I saw one when I was diving a couple years back, and I got out of the water so fast I nearly had a heart attack."

"Who's Poseidon?" she calls over the roaring ocean.

"Only the greatest fishermen in all the Florida Keys," Grover says excitedly.

"What?" She can barely hear him.

"Percy's dad!" Magnus says, and Annabeth's eyes go wide with understanding. It feels big, whatever this is.

Magnus stops, and Annabeth looks up to see a small crowd forming by the shore. There's a huge beast flopping about, and it makes her feel a little sick. She doesn't like sharks, okay—animals are just scary in general—but they're still animals, and it looks so desperate for air, and she feels queasy.

"Are you even allowed to catch them?" she asks, nudging Magnus as he fights a way for them through the crowd.

"Of course." He's surprised by her question, and that only makes her feel worse. "But it's a rare catch, you're not allowed to use firearms, and there's a limit on how many sharks parties can kill. Conservation and all that."

That, at least, makes her feel a little better. "How long have they been fighting it?" Annabeth asks.

"At least an hour now," says Grover, bright-eyed.

Magnus finally makes it to the front, and he reaches behind to pull Annabeth in the front alongside him. Grover's standing on his left.

Annabeth watches with morbid fascination as a middle-aged man with greying hair and sea-green eyes practically wrestles the big beast. It takes two men, both of whom she's never seen before, to drag it all the way into the sand, and she assumes the taller one is Percy's father. They flip it over onto its stomach, and the shark lurches forward, still alive but struggling, trying to get back into the water.

"They're going to kill it," Annabeth whispers, the pit in her stomach feeling hollow.

"I think they used a circle hook," Magnus whispers back, his eyes glued to the show before them.

The crowd clamors excitedly at the action, and the shark goes still. The other man, not Percy's father, opens the mouth, laughing gleefully, and shows the crowd. There are lines of jagged teeth, sharp and thick like fat knives, and there's some unrecognizable meat hanging from the teeth, and Annabeth can't tell if it's from the hook and it's the shark's own skin or some prey. Either way, she squirms uncomfortably. It's a glorious beast, beautiful, and… and she wishes they hadn't caught it all.

"It's a female mako!" the man announces and claps Poseidon on the back. "Clock it in at three hundred pounds and twelve feet," he says, beaming. Poseidon laughs, wiping sweat from his brow.

Some young boys look at it with wicked interest, and one of them has the gall to slap the shark. They can't be older than seven or eight, and already they have a taste for blood, and Annabeth knows there's nothing wrong with fishing or hunting or any of it, and she's not against it, really—freedom and all that—but… but it's a little disheartening, and she's not used to this.

There's a bob of black hair coming from the other end of the sand, pushing through the crowd. People part immediately for the individual, and she can't see as she's shoved to the side with Magnus. Grover's disappeared somewhere. Clarisse is congratulating Poseidon on his catch, and locals are observing it rowdily.

"Dad!"

Annabeth's nearly elbowed in the face, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere. She pushes out, even straying from Magnus—she's slim enough to squeeze through people—and she sees Percy. He's soaking wet, and he's not even wearing shoes or a shirt, and she's assuming he was out swimming or something, and he looks supremely pissed.

"Perseus! Come look." His dad drags him over to the shark, and the disgust on Percy's face is so obvious Annabeth's heart goes out to him, and yet she doesn't understand because isn't he a fisherman's son? Doesn't he sell fish? Isn't he _used_ to this?

"Isn't she a beauty?" Poseidon asks, grinning from ear to ear.

Clarisse raises the fin, cheering to that, and Poseidon smiles kindly at her.

Percy falls to his knees in the sand, observing the shark. The crowd is slowly dissipating, and Percy looks like he might snap and murder a man at any moment.

"What's going on?" Annabeth asks. Magnus is by her side in a moment. "Why is he so upset?"

"What?"

"What are they saying? Why are they arguing?" She points discreetly to Percy and his dad. Percy's cheeks and ears are turning red with anger.

Magnus' face changes to one of sympathy. "Percy's a big fisherman, don't get me wrong, but he's a strong advocate of shark conservation. He's not wrong, entirely—some species are definitely suffering from overfishing, and the state's trying to make even more restrictions—but it's kind of hard to have that opinion here when sharks are considered something that deserves a congratulations."

"Oh." Because what does she say to that?

"I like to call him the Shark Whisperer," Magnus tells her. The wind whips her hair around everywhere, and it's so loud in her ears. "He's swam with tiger sharks, and they didn't _do_ anything."

"Are they supposed to?" Tiger sharks _sound_ dangerous.

"They're one of the biggest and most predatory species in existence. They're not fast like makos, but they can reach 24 feet and over 1000 pounds, and only the whale shark, basking shark, and great white are bigger. They eat dolphins and _whales_ , dude. It's nuts. I wouldn't be caught dead around those things. You know, unless they killed me."

Annabeth swallows thickly, looking at Percy carefully as if she's seeing him in a new light.

"That boy could probably bleed in a pool with five great whites and be laughing and befriending them. I don't know how he does it… but it's incredible to watch."

Annabeth glances at Magnus, and she sees the fondness on his face.

"You guys are close?" she asks.

"Kind of," Magnus agrees, frowning at Percy cussing angrily across the beach. Nobody's watching anymore, but his dad and him are arguing so loudly even Annabeth feels bad, like she's intruding or something.

She hears something that sounds an awful lot like 'no wonder Mom left you,' and she gazes back at the drama. Percy's on his knees now, the sand clinging to his wet figure, and he has both hands on the shark's back, gently stroking the fins. His eyes are rimmed-red, and he's not quite crying, but he looks so pissed he might. She doesn't know how long she watches him, hopefully in the un-creepiest way possible, but she understands where Magnus is coming from. It's not hard to see how much Percy loves this ocean, and its creatures, and the sound of the water lapping against the shore. He's distanced from the humans, but closer to the animals than anyone else ever could be, and Annabeth finds herself sharing Magnus' fond sentiments.

Percy's eyes meet hers, and Annabeth feels her cheeks warm at being caught staring, and she quickly looks away, but it's too late. She hears him get up, and he's making his way over to them. She tries to tell herself to breathe, but Percy has a way of stealing her breath at any given moment.

"I thought you didn't like the water," says Percy, and Annabeth awkwardly turns to face him.

"I don't."

Magnus takes that as his cue to leave, mumbling something about cleaning up the fish and chips they left behind, and not littering, and going back to the house.

"And Percy? It's okay, man. You couldn't have done anything," Magnus assures him, and Percy nods morosely, his expression hardening at the mention of the shark, but he reluctantly accepts Magnus' hug. Magnus pats him on the back before stalking away.

"Sorry you had to see that. That's a shitty way to start your Florida trip," Percy curses, apologetically glancing at her.

Annabeth shrugs one shoulder, trying to steady her wildly-palpitating heart. "It's okay. It just caught me off guard, that's all."

"C'mon, let's go find a towel. I smell like fish," Percy apologized.

She half-smiled, but it was weak. He actually just smells saltier than usual with the sea water, and she wonders if maybe he wasn't fishing after all.

"It's okay," she agrees.

Percy walks with her for some time, and they're mostly quiet. "Welcome to my humble abode," he says dryly after about fifteen minutes or so.

Annabeth gapes up at the seaside house. It's beautiful, decorated to represent the sea, seashells and pastels and half-carved surfer boards propped around with the correct tools.

"You make boards?" There's a wooden skeleton in one corner of Percy's room, and there's so many photographs propped up around his room, many filled with a middle-aged woman with kind blue eyes and a brown hair who she can only assume is his mother.

He nods. "I'm going to pop in the shower, mkay? You can look around if you want."

Her heart warms at his implicit trust in her, and she cautiously sits down on his bed. It's not made or anything, obviously, but she doesn't want to disrupt the naturally wild, free spirit of his space. It's endearing, in a way.

…

Percy comes out of the shower, and he's not even wearing clothes, just a towel, and it's so indecent, and he doesn't seem to give a fuck, and Annabeth does her best to avoid eye contact as he skims his closet.

Percy dramatically drapes himself on his bed, looking up at her with tired eyes. They're still a little red, and she's starting to think maybe he really did cry.

"Do you usually not wear clothes?" Annabeth quips, and he grins slowly, and immediately she feels like she's been set afire.

"It depends," Percy teases, "on how much redder your face can get."

"Fuck off."

He laughs heartily, and ducks into the bathroom attached to his room, coming back with fresh shorts, though he still insists on torturing her by avoiding shirts. How dare he? She rolls her eyes, and she hides a smile, observing the pictures on his walls carefully.

"Why didn't they just throw the shark back?" Annabeth asks quietly after a moment. "Can't they do that?"

Percy sighs in resignation like he's finally ready to talk about his semi-breakdown on the beach. "They used a circle hook. I think she just kept fighting too much, and she got cut up too much, and at that point they're already going to die anyway if you throw them back in the sea, so it's just a waste of fish not to keep it for kills." He frowns to himself, gazing up at his ceiling thoughtfully. "But I don't think they intended to throw it back at all, bastards."

Annabeth's sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either," Annabeth comforts, remembering how Magnus held him.

"He's my dad, though." Percy rolls onto his stomach, and she pauses flipping through his baby pictures to meet his eye. He looks tortured and awful, and she finds herself falling into the pit of depression alongside him. "It hurts more when it's him. He said he'd stop catching sharks two years ago, and he broke that promise today. And I'm just really disappointed in him, but hey, it's nothing new right?" Percy smiles, but it's hollow and pained, and she has the absurd urge to cry.

Annabeth scowls, but it's not as angry as usual, just resigned and fatigued. "Yeah, family always tends to let us down the most, don't they?"

Percy nods solemnly. "This is too deep for four o'clock."

She half-smiles. "Maybe." She flips to the next picture, sitting down in his chair at his desk. There's wood sheddings littered all over the counter, but she ignores it, crossly her ankles primly. "I didn't know you took a bath in red Gatorade."

Percy laughs, and it makes her feel much better, the heavy atmosphere lifting immediately. Percy seems to have that effect on every situation it seems. "That was my fifth birthday," he remembers, and he stands up to hover over her shoulder. She's very aware of his soft breathing against the back of her neck, and it feels so intimate it's unbearably nice. She can't move. Percy reaches over to point at his mom in the background. "It wasn't a particularly expensive request, and it was just some stupid fun so she agreed. I was sticky in all sorts of places for like three days after. Never doing that again."

Annabeth grins when she flips the page. Percy's totally naked, and he's maybe three, and he has underwear on his head, and he's running around in the sand totally unashamed.

This time it's Percy's turn to blush. "Well, fuck. I forgot that was in here." He quickly goes to turn the page, but Annabeth slaps her hand down on it, hindering his progress, and making his blush darken significantly.

Before she can lose her resolve, "you had such a tiny dick," Annabeth speculates, peeking at it closely, and Percy turns impossibly redder.

"Can you not?"

Annabeth tries not to laugh, she really does, but he's blushing really hard, and it's way cuter than it should be, and little Percy is absolutely adorable, and those eyes are just as beautiful as they were back then, and her lips curve up sweetly like she just can't help herself.

"It's probably bigger now!"

And she loses it. "You said ' _probably_ ,'" she repeats, fully realizing how stupidly funny this situation is—they're discussing his dick, for god's sake, and she starts laughing so hard she's crying, and then Percy's laughing too—this whole thing is just ridiculous—and then they're both cackling wildly, holding their stomachs as they try to breathe. They try to calm down, but every time they lock eyes, the cycle starts all over again.

It feels like it's been hours, though it's probably only been a few minutes, but Percy finally regulates his breathing, and she manages to calm down, and they just grin knowingly at each other, and Annabeth's never felt more alive than she does now.

"You're so stupid," she says, unable to stop smiling.

"I try," he chuckles, and then they're quiet, just looking at each other, and this is probably only the third time she's ever talked to him, but she feels like she's known him all her life, and it's nothing like she's ever experienced before, this type of understanding. It's refreshing, it's wholesome, and it makes her want to _do_ something. It makes her a little stupid too, and a little reckless, but—she likes to think it's bringing out the best in her, the version of her that's so repressed, the one who's not afraid to live, and when she looks at him, he seems to know everything is so much different now. It's a subtle shift in their dynamic, but it's enough to be noticeable.

"Hey, do you want to see something tonight?"

Annabeth's forehead creases in confusion. "See what?"

"A surprise," Percy whispers, and a wave of anxiety crashes into her, spoiling her once invincible feeling.

"I don't know, Percy."

He studies her face. "I won't take you to the beach, I swear."

"Percy, I don't know. I don't even like riding bikes and stuff. It's… it's dangerous."

"Lots of things are dangerous."

"Percy," she says in exasperation, willing him to understand. He must see her wide eyes and shallow breathing because he caves.

"I found this freshwater grotto a couple months back."

Her stomach does flip flops. It reminds her too much of those movies where people drown, or there's shark attack, or _something,_ and she's scared okay? It's hard to change years of habit, and she appreciates his openness and willing to give up a surprise for her comfort, but that doesn't mean the surprise is any better.

She opens her mouth to protest, but Percy holds up a patient hand. "Let me finish," he pleads, and he seems so earnest that she keeps quiet and waits for him to finish. "It's beautiful. It's an open top, so it's not claustrophobia-triggering, and it's the clearest, blue water you'll ever see. Nothing would ever sneak up on you, and it's too shallow for big creatures, and freshwater is usually not popular with anything you could possibly be afraid of—in fact there's barely any fish in there. I think I've only ever seen two at once, and they're tiny, like pet fish. And there's vine all around and rocks, and there's a little perch off to the side made from rock, and I've gone diving in there a thousand times to make sure it's safe like I always do before I ever bring anyone anywhere, and it does this beautiful thing where the flowers around the sides of the water dip into the water when night falls. I don't really know why, but it's spectacular to watch, and if you don't want to come near the water I swear I won't make you—we can just sit on the perch—but I really want to show you."

"Are you still breathing?" Annabeth jokes, but Percy can probably see right through her act of bravery.

"Unfortunately, yes," he whispers in return, and his face is really close to hers, and if she just leaned in the right way she could kiss him and—

"What if I die?" Annabeth finally admits. There's ringing in her ears. It's already dangerous enough on land, forget the water. She's fallen into too many YouTube rabbit holes of watching the scariest underwater creatures.

"Trust me," he murmurs under his breath almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud. "You're not going to die—I'd die before I let that happen—and like I said, you don't have to go in. You can sit on the rock and admire the flowers and I'll cannonball in and then obnoxiously drip water all over you," he jokes, but she can tell he's nervously awaiting her agreement.

Annabeth takes a deep breath, playing with her fingers nervously, and Percy takes them gently in his own and squeezes. It's not that she doesn't trust him—if Magnus does, then she does too—but it won't fight the irrational fear.

"No water, just rock?" She's breathless, her eyes wide with fear. Her chest feels tight.

"I promise," he emphasizes.

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly before peeking back up at him. His eyes are still on her, captivated, waiting, patient, understanding. "Okay."

"Really?"

"Yes." It doesn't _feel_ like the biggest mistake of her life, but her blood is coursing so quickly through her veins, and her face feels hot.

"Okay, then." Percy smiles a little, relaxing, and it's the same charming way he smiled at her as she hauled milk and chocolate sauce back to her house the other night. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Annabeth Chase," he breathes, and she smiles shyly.

"I better get home." The sun is already leaking hues of orange and yellow and gold, sparkling across Percy's room in broken slices. It's beautiful, but she should probably get home before dinner. "What time?"

"I'll come over around seven or so?"

Annabeth glances to the clock on his wall. It's half past four. "Okay," she agrees. Percy pulls away from her, albeit reluctantly, and she both simultaneously lets out a sigh of relief and feels a pinch of regret. Part of her wishes she'd kissed him, and the other part is hopelessly relieved he didn't. She thinks he doesn't want to scare her off, and after getting her to agree to come see his treasure grove she thinks he doesn't want to push her luck. That's okay. She's waited her whole life to feel alive again, and if she's waited this long, she can wait a little longer until she's ready, until he's not afraid to scare her, until she feels bold again.

"Bye, Percy." She smiles at him as they reach his front door.

He leans against his doorframe. "Want me to walk you back?"

Annabeth sees how tired he looks, though, like he desperately needs to eat or needs a nap. Swimming is so strength-consuming, she knows, and his eyes are droopy with exhaustion, and she knows she's irrationally afraid she's going to get lost even though she most certainly knows the way back home, and it's pretty close to Percy's house, and—

"It's okay," she assures him.

"Are you sure?" Percy gnaws at his bottom lip, and that only makes the urge to kiss him multiply tenfold. "It's not a problem. It'll barely take ten minutes."

"Percy, you look like you're going to fall over any moment. You should go eat something," she says gently, and she smiles at him. "I'll be okay," she says, and it feels more like she's saying it to comfort herself than him.

He hesitantly pauses. "Okay. But text me if you need anything, okay?"

She appreciates the offer. "Thanks, Percy."

He just smiles drowsily, using the doorframe to support his weight. She looks back one last time, and he's barely a blob in the doorway, still waiting until she's gone completely, watching her as long as he can.

Annabeth smiles down at her feet, and then she runs off to get back to her cousin's home in a timely fashion. After all, she needs to shower and eat dinner before Percy comes over to hang out. She's pretty sure she has sand in her hair from Magnus' careless, mischievous ways, and that's a situation that needs to be rectified ASAP.

…

"Do I wear a bathing suit?"

"Shit, Annabeth, I don't even know." Magnus sits on her bed, puzzled as she sorts through her closet. "So it's a date?"

She groans at his words. "I don't know, dude. Maybe a bathing suit with clothes on top? I mean, I'm not planning to go in the water."

Magnus laughs to himself at the expression on her face. "You'll look stuffed, and you'll probably get hot."

"Not if it's a two-piece, though, right?"

Magnus throws his arms up in exasperation. "I'm an only child, man! I don't know _girl_ stuff."

Annabeth rolls his eyes. "You don't know stuff, period."

"Asshole."

She smiles sweetly at him and holds up a middle finger at him until he laughs. She ends up pushing him out of her room so she can change, deciding on regular clothes over a two-piece bathing suit. It's basically like wearing undergarments, right?

The doorbell rings through the house, and she kind of hates Percy for not just texting her to come down. She cringes when she hears Frey's heavy footsteps going for the door, and she slides into sandals as fast she can to reduce the length of a sure-to-be awkward conversation.

"Percy!" Frey greets brightly, and Annabeth grabs her phone off the counter. Percy sees her, though, because he smiles brightly, and she's relieved. He's also in normal, casual clothes.

Frey turns behind him to see her. "Oh, Annabeth." He looks at her quizzically.

"I'll be back later, Uncle. Don't wait up," she says quickly, trying to slip past him out the door, but Frey stops her.

"Wait, where are you kids going? It's almost dark out." He frowns at Percy.

"Um." She hesitates. "The beach." She doesn't want to spill Percy's secret grotto and lose his trust and faith.

Frey's eyes dart between both of them. "I know they leave the lights on, but the life guards are all off duty. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's fine," Annabeth assures him, swallowing her nervousness. She really doesn't want to talk about this, or else she'll cave to her fears and give up on this.

"I'm CPR-trained," Percy reminds him, smiling politely, and Annabeth just stares at him because she didn't even know that. "And I've never let anything happen to Magnus," he points out.

Frey relaxes. "That's true. Be careful. Don't do anything stupid."

She tries not to think too hard about that last one.

"And Annabeth? I'm proud of you," Frey says softly, and she offers the tiniest smile. Percy seems somewhat confused by the meaning, but he's nonplussed, and she ducks her head out the door, waving half-heartedly behind her as she goes, following Percy into the night.

…

"Oh, it's beautiful!" She's not quite sure why she's surprised, but she hasn't seen something like this in so long, seeing as she actively avoids these kinds of places. Annabeth sits with her long legs dangling over the edge of the rock. She's grateful it's not like a cave but entirely open as he had promised, and it's even better than she could have ever imagined.

The rocks are almost purple in the night, and there's some colorful LED lights set up around it, probably something Percy did the day he discovered this place to make sure he was being safe when he explored. The water is crystal clear, just as he said, and the surface is so smooth and tempting.

"Were you expecting it to be hideous?" Percy teases, and she doesn't even bother to say something equally sarcastic because she's too enraptured with the grotto's beauty.

"Like you?" she finally says, turning away from the water to smirk at him. He holds a hand to his chest, feigning horror.

"I'm gorgeous," he tells her, and he winks, and she's pretty sure she dies a thousand deaths. _Yes_ , she internally agrees, _you really are,_ but she just sneers at him.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she huffs, and he laughs. After a beat of silence. "When did you put the lights up?"

"This afternoon." He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "I don't usually dive at night here, and if I do I bring all my equipment like underwater flashlights. But I thought… I thought it might make you feel a little better."

Something in her ribcage melts, and she hates it for doing so. "You didn't sleep then? Percy," she sighs, but she's smiling stupidly, and so he doesn't seem to feel regret at all.

He shrugs. "The water is pretty dark at night."

She swallows hard. It looks almost black, like ink, when the sun falls. But now it's almost inviting, except for the fact that it's probably freezing. "Yeah," she says quietly.

"Can I ask you something?" he tries.

She should say no, she really should, because she thinks she knows where this is going, and it's uncomfortable and terrible to talk about, and she really doesn't want to, but he seems so troubled, concerned, and she just wants to get it over with. Annabeth hesitantly nods.

"I bet you know this is coming, but… but why are you so afraid of… well, water for one thing, but just things in general? I always look at you, and it feels like you're holding your breath for _something_ , and I don't understand, but I want to, if that's okay with you," he finishes softly.

Annabeth bites her lip, fidgeting. She stares out the water, knowing that if she looks at him, she will one hundred percent close up and feel awkward and cold and not like sharing. She shudders a little, and Percy probably thinks she's cold despite the dull warmth of a Florida night because he scoots a little closer to her, and his body warmth keeps her comfortable.

"You really want the harrowing bullshit?" She feels him smile.

"Yeah, I really do."

She smiles, but it hurts. "I had a brother."

Percy's quiet, silently noting the past tense. He gives her space to explain at her own pace.

"We were super close, and I'm from California, so it's not like I'm a total stranger to the water. My brother and I were surfing and screwing around, and I don't—" She cuts herself off, reliving the memories. Percy squeezes her hand for support, and she relishes in his touch. "I was nine, and he was eleven, but it was almost like we were twins. He was a smart kid, destined for greatness. We live in Silicon Valley, so you know…"

"Surrounded by geniuses until you become one yourself," Percy understands.

She nods obediently. "Yeah, so it's not like he didn't know how to swim or something." Percy tenses, and she knows he knows where this is going. "Basically, I lost track of him. It was a particularly big wave, a riptide I think. It was bright and sunny, and there were lifeguards and everything, but his head went under water for more than two minutes, and you're not supposed to fight against riptides—he knew that just as much as I did—but I think he panicked because he couldn't find _me._ I think he thought I was caught in it too, and I wasn't, and he was frantic, searching for me because… I'm his little sister, right?"

Percy nods slowly, his expression revealing nothing. It's like he closes up when he knows something bad's about to happen.

"And he panicked so hard he began choking, and I was freaking out at that point, screaming for a lifeguard. I was nine; I didn't know what to do." She shrugs helplessly. The water ripples under them in mesmerizing, identical waves. "They couldn't revive him, and he died that day."

Percy frowns, looking down at the water too.

"And I know it's hard for you to imagine because you grew up in Long Island, and you've probably been a natural since you were little." She smiles a little, and he does too, thinking of his baby pictures back from his room. "But it really messed with me. I think I would've been more… normal, I guess, if my parents hadn't fucked it up so much." Annabeth's voice goes sour. "They were too busy grieving and coping and arguing to maybe realize that I was sort of traumatized and depressed at the age of nine. I _needed_ somebody, you know? And they didn't do shit. They were so busy arguing among themselves that I developed this great fear of water without proper therapy or healthy coping or support. And then the fear spread to, well, _everything._ Suddenly bikes were death contraptions, and baths were a big no, only showers, and sugar is a leading murderer, and I had my ceiling fan uninstalled, and germs are going to contaminate you, and everything was just out to get you because if that ocean I'd known my entire life was perfectly safe until it claimed my brother's life, who's to say the same thing won't happen with anything else? I don't know. I think it's gotten a bit better with age, my tendencies I mean, but I still actively avoid a lot of things, and I can't really help it."

"Like a sort of anxiety," Percy says, and she nods.

"Yeah, kind of."

"Is sitting this high up freaking you out?" He seems genuinely concerned, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"It did at first, but I think it's more stable than it looked, and the fact that someone else is sitting here makes it a little better." Her smile wavers slightly.

"So what happened with your parents?"

She scoffs, bitterly perhaps. "Divorced about six years ago, and my mother never reached out again, so I let it go."

He winces. "That's rough."

"Your parents are divorced too, though," Annabeth points out.

"Yeah, but I still talked to both when they were divorced. I even talk to my step-father sometimes, Paul. Nice guy."

"What happened to your mom?" She remembers him telling her she died when he was seven.

Percy looks like he's aged five years as he considers the question. Her heart squeezes painfully. "She was an aspiring author. She was going on her first book tour, and we were all very excited, and the plane had a malfunction in one of its engines." He doesn't say more, and he doesn't need to.

Annabeth's quiet. "That's awful."

He smiles sadly. "Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe that's why I refuse to go on airplanes," he tells her, and he grins half-heartedly.

Annabeth smiles at that. "You're joining me in the traumatic fear club?"

"Maybe not as extremely, but yeah." He sighs. "You think you'll ever get over any of it?"

"Maybe. I'm getting better with each day, and stuff like this… this lax, laid back rehab into it, it kind of helps."

He smiles warmly at her. "I'm glad."

"You?"

"Force me on a ferris wheel, and you'll see that it's not happening any time soon."

She throws her head back and laughs, and it echoes against the tall rock cliffs. "Ferris wheels are cute, though! My friend and his girlfriend take so many pictures on those, and it's super romantic and sweet." It's only because they're slow that even she can tolerate them, but she likes thinking of Piper and Jason, her lovely friends back in California.

He snorts. "My panic won't be romantic, Annabeth."

She grins. "I can't imagine you afraid of anything," she admits, and it's a sobering thought.

He winks. "That's the plan."

She rolls her eyes at his stupidity.

"Okay, c'mon let's go diving."

"Percy!"

He holds up his hands, laughing. "I'm only joking. Unless you want to." He's earnest and sweet, but she still needs time, and she'd like to start with a pool or something manmade and easier, maybe.

"Raincheck?"

"For sure," he agrees. "But there's no way in hell I'm coming down here and _not_ swimming."

"Do you have a personal vendetta against shirts?" she muses as he throws his off his head and onto the rocks.

"Are you complaining?" He's amused.

Days of heaving heavy nets and manning sailboats have obviously agreed with him, and he's so effortlessly pretty it's almost unfair. It doesn't help that he has long eyelashes that cast curly, delicate shadows under his eyes, and his orbs reflect the ocean, and his hair is dark against his tan skin, and it's just not fair to Annabeth, really.

She scowls petulantly, and he takes that as a yes, and his grin only spreads.

"Besides, I hate the feeling of my shirt sticking to me," he complains. When he pulls his shirt off, there's just a pastel, pearly white and peach seashell necklace resting against the base of his throat. It gleams in the LED lights, winking at her.

"And your shorts don't have the same effect?" she drawls, leaning back on the palms of her hands. She raises an eyebrow in amusement.

"Of course they do." Percy stands to his feet, peering over the edge curiously. "But I'm sure the lifeguards would have a stroke if I just gave the beaches a show, wouldn't they?" Percy offers a cheeky grin. "And probably you too." Before she can protest, he dives over the edge of the rock.

Annabeth scrambles to her knees to peer at him just as he cleanly breaks through the water's surface, smoothly, professionally sending minimal ripples across the surface. He comes up for air, shaking out the dark mop on his head, and he beams up at her. He looks so small in the water, but so at home, and Annabeth is content to admire him as he swims. It's so graceful, the way he cuts through the water, and because it's clear she can finally stop worrying about the Jaws shark coming up from the bottom and dragging Percy into the pits of hell.

"It's fucking cold without a wetsuit," he hisses, and she laughs, laying on her stomach and propping her face up on her elbow.

"You'd make a pretty merman," she teases, and he laughs, splashing the water high enough to flick a couple droplets against her hand.

"What color tail should I get?" he asks, swimming around like a jellyfish, his motions as fluid as the water.

"The same color as your soul so you can match forever."

"What color is your soul?" he inquires, carding his fingers through his wet hair. It's distracting.

"Black like my coffee," she mocks, and he snorts. "And what color is your soul, Perce?"

"Rainbow."

"Indecisive traitor."

"I want a glittery, merman, sequin tail," he protests, and she smiles at him.

"Okay, Aquaman."

He rolls his eyes. "That movie was terrible."

"Says you."

"I'm very much qualified to judge water movies," he declares. "I'm practically a merman."

"No, you're the Shark Whisperer."

Percy looks up at her in surprise. "Magnus told you that? That boy is always spilling my business." He clicks his tongue in false distaste, and Annabeth grins so hard her cheeks hurt.

"Did you really swim with tiger sharks?"

He smiles like it's a secret, and she likes to think it's an expression he saves only for her. "I was twelve," he confirms.

"Percy, that's so dangerous!" She groans, facepalming at his stupidity.

"I was free-diving, and my dad taught me well when I was younger, so he was okay with me doing it alone as long as I didn't go too far, and he was hanging around on shore if I needed anything with a radio. I was always safe. Help was never too far away, but I just came across a few of them together, and they were so magnificent."

He sounds fond, and she finds herself listening intently.

"I knew what they were, of course. I knew my marine life for safety measures, and I knew they were hopelessly dangerous, but… if I was quiet, they didn't really seem to mind. And I even managed to touch one."

Annabeth's unintentionally balled up her fist, afraid of even his memory, but his voice is soothing, relaxed, and it helps.

"I cut my hand almost immediately, of course. Their skin is sharp and rough against ours, and it hurt like a bitch, and I probably should have got out. I was bleeding, and they would probably murder me or something, but I didn't, and my dad yelled at me so much when he found out later while bandaging my hand, but they didn't _do_ anything, Annabeth." His eyes are glassy with passion, and he smiles at her like a little kid, seeing the ocean for the first time. "They're wonderful creatures most of the time. Bull sharks are kind of like the bitchy middle sibling, and even I'll usually get out if they're lingering around because they attack unprovoked, but for the most part sharks are so calm, and graceful, and beautiful, and I wish people weren't so afraid of them. Yes, you should always exercise proper precautions, but we are so grateful to have them, and we have to treasure them."

He pauses, looking at her, and her heart is breaking into a million pieces but in the _good_ way. She's never wanted to kiss him, hug him, touch him more than she does now.

"What's your favorite?"

"Nurse sharks," Percy says without missing a beat. "They're so small and cute and sweet, and their skin is actually super soft, so I never get injured with them, and I would adopt one if I could." He looks her squarely in the eye, treading the water expertly, and he's dead serious.

She laughs. "I think you've already adopted the whole ocean, Percy."

He scans the water around him wistfully, and then he smiles up at her. There's a hint of a dimple in his left cheek, and it's driving her nuts. "Maybe I have," he agrees, his voice so small with the fascination of a child, and she realizes she really, _really_ likes him, and that's dangerous because her feelings can get hurt, but she trusts him, and she likes him, and she doesn't want to be afraid of this too. And her ribs are a cage for a broken heart, but they're capable of hurting from laughing so hard, and they're capable of opening up, and she's seen it happen before, and that's where she wants to be. She wants to roll around in this feeling, to revel in everything that makes Percy Jackson who he is, to feel the warmth that comes from inside that is meeting someone new, and going from the awkwardly polite stages to texting stupid crap at three in the morning, to asking if they like you, to subconscious touching like your bodies are just naturally drawn to each other, to innocent fingers brushing against skin, to waiting for their texts, and calling just to hear their voice, and she doesn't want to run from this too. She doesn't want to run from him.

He's stupidly nice, and he knows too much stuff about the ocean to the point where she kind of ships him with the sea, and he's dorky and smooth at the same time, and he loves his mom and begrudgingly his dad, and he loves animals, and he's passionate about the Earth, and he's compassionate and understanding, and he's patient and non-judgemental and nurturing, and he's not afraid to step out of toxic masculinity and do simple things like hug Magnus, and he smiles at her like he's a little crazy, and he knows it, and he doesn't care, and she wants to go to the world he goes to when he's swimming in the water because she can practically _see_ his mind wandering somewhere else, a heaven in every sense of the word, and she wants to follow him wherever he goes.

Percy finally gets out of the water, and he makes his way over to the rocks to climb up.

Annabeth holds out her hand, and he gratefully takes it as she pulls him up, but when he sits on the rock next to her, dripping wet, he doesn't let go. He grins wickedly at her, and Annabeth's heart skips a beat, and then he pulls her flush against him, and he kisses her.

Percy's gentle at first, considerate, slow, but she's wanted this for so long that she's kissing him fervently, and he reciprocates. He lets her set the pace, and it's just another thing she absolutely adores about him, and they kiss until her lips are probably swollen, but it's a long time coming, and she refuses to pull away for anything but air.

Annabeth very much underestimated how much more he can take her breath away when he's _actually_ taking her breath away, and she doesn't feel normal like she always thought she would.

No, she feels like the best version of herself, like the her before her brother died, like the person she would like to be more of in the future, and when his hands curl around her waist, hers come up to cup his jaw almost automatically. They're so in sync and for the first time in a long time she feels like somebody understands her, and there is no feeling that compares to how she feels right now: heart full, cheeks flushed, and breath and heart stolen. She feels eternally young, and he kisses her again because he can.

…

"I think I'm going to freak out."

Percy glances up at her, genuinely concerned. "She's a nurse, though. She's just a baby little thing; she won't hurt you."

But Percy is practically holding a shark, and he's petting it like it's a dog, and is he actually a psychopath? It swims around him, completely unbothered by his touch. Magnus was right—it's incredible to watch—but it does naught to smother her sheer terror. And sure she's standing like ten feet away, watching from far, far away, but that doesn't make it any less scary.

"Look, she's a sweetheart!" The nurse shark circles around him curiously, and Annabeth's so afraid for him and maybe even a little bit of him (how can anyone do this?) that she's practically holding her breath.

He steps out of the water fifteen minutes later, smiling inadvertently.

"And I thought Magnus was insane," she mutters, and he grins back at her.

"Do I get to classify as one of the Florida Men™?"

She snorts, shoving him as they go to get a bite to eat.

…

"Percy, slow down," she laughs, breathless.

"But I want to chase the dawn with you," he says cheesily, and smirks, and she hates him for it, and he knows it, and he only grins wider.

"You're terrible."

"You love it."

"Fuck off."

"I'd rather fuck you."

She rolls her eyes but kisses him anyways, and he smiles like she's solved the world. She brushes his hair back with a hand absentmindedly. "Your hair is a disgrace to humanity," she teases.

"Your mom is a disgrace to humanity."

"Are you done?"

"Never."

…

"Why did I agree to this?"

"Because I said you can shove me on a Ferris wheel," Percy reminds her, floating around in the water casually.

"I fucking hate this, Percy," she groans out, and he pauses, putting his feet down on the bottom of the pool.

"You can walk," he promises. "You're not going to drown. You can walk."

"Magnus," she hisses, wrapping her arms around herself as she stands at the edge of the pool, petrified.

"You're going to be okay, Beth. It's the shallow end, and it's barely three feet," Magnus assures her, sitting at the edge of the pool in his swim trunks, sipping on lemonade.

"This fucking sucks," she says, and she can't stop cursing. "Why would I fucking do this to myself? There's so much chlorine in there, and probably dead bugs, and soft skin can cut so easily on the sides of the pools, and just _shit_."

"Annabeth." Magnus gives her a look, and she rakes her fingers through her hair, desperate for some form of escape. "There're stairs. You don't have to jump in."

"I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate this," she repeats under her breath as she takes a step into the pool. At first it feels like a bathtub, but that does little to calm her nerves considering she hasn't soaked in a tub since she was a little girl, and she certainly feels like a frightened little girl now, and she _loathes_ the feeling of feeling fear like this.

"Relax." It's Percy, and she doesn't even realize she's squeezing her eyes shut until she feels his slippery hands on her forearms, steadying her. She's pretty sure she's hurting him by how hard she's holding on, but she's going to _die_ if she lets go.

"C'mere," says Magnus, outstretching an arm. Droplets of water roll down his fingertips as he splashes his arm in the water. She walks in the water, and she hasn't the feeling of less gravity in so long it startles her. She reaches out for him, and Magnus pulls her between his calves, squeezing her hands firmly. He offers her some of the lemonade, but she stiffly shakes her head no.

"Germs," she explains tightly, and Percy's swimming around behind her.

"Do you still remember how to swim?"

"It's like riding a bike," she confirms, glancing over at Percy. "Doesn't mean I want to, though."

He smiles shyly. "You'll be okay." He drifts across the pool.

"Percy," she says almost pleadingly, but she recognizes the determination in his eyes, and she knows she can beg for him to come back all she wants, but he won't. "Please."

"Come on. It's maybe 25 yards," he encourages.

"Percy, seriously."

"Annabeth, I'm not going to let you drown."

Magnus lets go of her hand, albeit reluctantly, and she thinks she can't breathe anymore. It's too far. And she knows it gets deeper on Percy's end, and she doesn't want to feel the bottom go out beneath her. She shakes her head profusely, feeling her tear ducts betray her as her eyes sting, and she knows it's ridiculous—she's been eighteen for almost two weeks now, and it's going to be August in a few days—but she can't help herself.

"The CDC says, on average, 3,536 people die annually from drowning," she says shakily.

Percy shakes his head. "Why do you even know that?"

"Annabeth, you're not going to drown," Magnus reassures her. "You need to stop reading that crap anyways."

She swallows thickly, and she swims because she doesn't want the feeling of the floor leaving her feet. It's so hard to trust the water to take her to where she wants to be without feeling like she's losing control, and she goes slow, at her own pace, but Percy's only a few feet away from her, and he doesn't make her swim the last couple feet. He reaches out leisurely and pulls her tight to the wall and to him, and she clings to it like a koala. The water is so much darker under her, and she doesn't even want to look down.

"Oh, god, it's dark. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Breathe with me," Percy whispers, and she tries to focus on him, she really does. There's no Magnus, no sun, no water, no nothing but Percy. He inhales and exhales, and she mimics him. They do that a few more times.

He lets her squeeze the crap out of him, and he engulfs her in a hug, and she just breathes in his scent.

"Not going to look down?"

She shakes her head in his arm, her nails digging into the railing and then his back. He lets out a sigh.

"Done for today?"

She nods, and she's proud of herself for not crying and breaking down completely.

"That's okay. I'm proud of you for trying."

Annabeth nods again, mentally exhausted. She thinks Malcolm would be proud of her too, and it's enough. Percy helps her get out of the pool, and she's so grateful for land that she completely disregards the fact that there's probably a million bugs in the grass, and she just flops down on her back in the soft lawn, ignoring the way the blades stick to her wet skin, and she stares at the blue sky, and she breathes again, watching the clouds go by, feeling the solid ground underneath her and—

Grey eyes peer down at her. "You okay?"

She offers a weak smile. "My hair feels gross." She's quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, the scariest part about drowning is not being able to get in the air. It's like desperately reaching for it, but it's just always slipping your fingertips."

Magnus frowns with concern.

"Air is like television cable; you don't appreciate it until it's gone." Annabeth grins up at him so he knows she's okay, and he just laughs, tells her she's stupid, and pulls her up into a hug only to crush her completely.

…

"Stop whining so much," Annabeth berates, pulling Percy blindfolded over the rocks. He tries to hide his smile, but he fails miserably. "Watch your step."

Percy trips over the rock, and she catches him as he curses.

"I warned you," is all she says, and he scowls.

"You're supposed to be leading me," he points out, and she smacks his arm playfully.

Percy sniffs at the air. "It smells Earthy."

"Are you done, Sherlock?" She rolls her eyes even if he can't see.

He only grins.

"Okay, you can open your eyes," says Annabeth excitedly.

Percy pulls the bandana off his eyes to see a picnic blanket spread out on the sandy shore. There's something on it, and there's the familiar cliffs of his little grotto, but he doesn't get the chance to observe it further because Annabeth shoves him into the water.

Percy resurfaces a moment later, spitting out water and blinking the water out of his eyes.

She grins at him sweetly from the shore, and she has the gall to wave two fingers mischievously.

"Rude," he scoffs, his head bobbing above the water as he treads the water.

"I was just cooling you off," Annabeth says innocently.

"Was that for all the complaining?"

"Bingo."

He cringes cutely and hauls himself out of the water, hilariously fully-clothed and sopping wet. "Oh, god it's sticking. I hate you so much."

Annabeth only smirks, but her smugness quickly fades when he reaches for her. "Don't you dare—"

He crushes her in a hug and even twists his shirt to release the water all over her.

"You disgust me." She steps back, and the entire front side of her is soaked, her arms shiny with water. "Why?"

Percy smiles. "Now we're even." He peels his wet shirt off, shaking his hair like a dog, and Annabeth judges him. A lot. "You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you could've just asked."

"Cocky bastard," she mutters under her breath, and he laughs while Annabeth unfolds the picnic blanket. There's some fruit and other things, but mostly importantly there's a mini blue cake in the center—it can't be more than ten centimeters in diameter, and Annabeth shrugs sheepishly. Magnus had been the worst assistant baker of all time—he just sat around and ate all the ingredients, including vanilla extract (and then proceeded to cough up his lungs), the dumbass—but she worked really hard at it.

She pokes two candles into it, searching for the matchbox. She strikes a match, cupping it with her hand and lights them both up before blowing out the match systematically. "Happy 18th Birthday, Percy."

His hands are illuminated by the flames, and she wants to stay like this forever, relishing the awestruck expression on his face, memorizing the planes of his back and arms, the smile—all of it. And she knows when the end of August comes, she'll go back to California, and she knows Percy isn't her boyfriend—they never really talked about that—but he still kisses her so casually that it aches, and he traces mindless patterns on her skin, and he sneaks out at night to take her to the Indian State Historic Park, and they search for shipwrecks, and they don't find any, but he still makes it entertaining anyway, and he treats her like she's his whole world, and when he comes back from diving he's always down to try her weird food creations, and he lets her smack him with her hoodie sleeves, and he takes her with him when he goes swimming, even if she only likes to watch from afar, and she wonders if he knows exactly how little time they have left.

"You made this?" he whispers, gazing at the cake admirably.

"You like it?" She'd drawn little clamshells around the borders and put graham crackers around the base for sand, and scrawled in loopy, blue handwriting on the top was "Seaweed Brain" and a birthday wish.

"Are you kidding me? I love it." His eyes are shining, and he beams up at her. For her birthday, she'd been forced to sit through a family dinner, and her dad even flew down to Florida for a couple days, and it had sucked a bunch and been super awkward, and Percy had come later in the night to take her back to his house so they could fool around and watch movies and do nothing really. He'd made her cookies. Percy, it turns out, was really handy in the kitchen. And she'd just wanted to make his day extra special.

"Well? Make a wish, I suppose." Annabeth gestures to the quickly melting candles.

Percy hesitates, thinking probably, and he blows it out. Annabeth smiles to herself. "What'd you wish for?"

He shakes his head. "Can't tell you. It breaks the magic."

"Mermaid magic?"

"Mermaid magic," he promises.

She cuts it into four slices, and gives him two because why the hell not, and he kisses her cheek so softly she thinks she can't breathe, and she has to concentrate on cutting the slices so he can't see how pink she's turning.

"It's super cute how you blush."

"Just eat your cake," she sasses, and he laughs, tucking a rogue curl behind her hair so naturally. He has no other intention, but he just wants to be touching her all the time, and it makes the scratchiness in her throat even worse because it's already mid-August. She has _two_ weeks before she needs to go home for college. She was accepted to Cornell for architecture. It's an incredible opportunity, and students spend a semester in their third year in Rome, and that's all the way in Ithaca, Rome, and she has no idea where Percy's going—she hasn't summoned the courage to ask yet—but she knows it won't be New York. He'll be following the water wherever he goes, and he's outgrown even little Long Island.

"What's wrong?"

Percy's developed this uncanny ability to be able to read her faces, no matter how reserved, no matter where, no matter when. Sometimes it's a relief when she's so upset, and she doesn't know how to bring it up, and sometimes it's a burden when she's trying to hide her feelings, and she can't conceal herself from him.

Annabeth looks at him oddly. "Nothing."

"Annabeth."

"I was wondering if the frosting tasted weird to you too. I don't usually like frosting, so maybe that's just it, but it seems strange," she lies, and she feels bad for it, but she tries to seem genuinely concerned with the frosting.

"It's still kickass to me. But we both know this isn't about frosting." Percy glances at her, and he's calm, as he usually is—it takes a lot to make him angry, really, truly angry—and she kind of wants to cry.

"No," she agrees softly, picking at the cake. "It's August 18th," she says after a silence.

Percy puts down his fork. "We're doing this now?"

Annabeth figures maybe she's not the only one who's been thinking about it. "No. It's your birthday. Eat your cake."

"Annabeth, I don't really care about my birthday," he whispers, and he reaches out to stroke her face. "I'm only here because it's so nice of you to want to do this for me, or else I'd be out and about, probably working, fishing with my dad."

"I care about your birthday," she whispers, and she's holding onto her last strands of sanity because she knows if they go down this road she's only going to get upset.

"I know."

"And I really, really hate that it's your birthday."

"I know."

"Because that means there's exactly thirteen more days until I'm on a flight to California to pack for New York." And she remembers what she told herself that night he first took her to this grotto, and she remembers how she promised herself she wouldn't fall too deep, but here she is now, and she's so, _so_ screwed.

He exhales harshly. "I know," he mumbles this time, losing his resolve.

"It was nice knowing you," she tests the words, and they both wince at the same time.

"That's awful."

She nods in agreement.

"So where are you going?" Percy finally asks the question they're both thinking.

"Cornell. Architecture." She offers a rueful smile, but Percy genuinely beams at her.

"That's incredible. I knew Magnus said you were smart, but I guess I had to see it to believe it, Ivy," he teases, but even his charm can't make her smile now.

"And you?"

"I really considered Boston University, even if I'm from New York."

At that, she _does_ manage a smile.

"They send you to New England and the Belize Barrier Reef for research, but… but it's not by real water. It's a river. It's not the same. So I ended up picking Eckerd."

"St. Petersburg, Florida?"

"It's home," Percy says, and he seems surprised by it. "Long Island will always be my other home, but Boston's river just won't cut it for me. I want to stay here, continue fishing, study what I love but not give up the real thing. My grotto would miss me, I think."

"And your sharks," she reminds him.

"And my sharks," he agrees, and his smile falters for a moment. "But biochemistry and marine biology won't fill the Wise Girl-filled space."

Her heart constricts painfully. "I know, Seaweed Brain."

"How did we fuck this up so much?" he asks no one in particular.

Annabeth lets out a sharp laugh, but it sounds awfully crackly like right before she cries. "We didn't even DTR."

"On purpose!" He groans, and she smiles morosely.

"On purpose," she concedes.

"So you're going to the north for the Syracuse area," he muses, fiddling with the picnic blanket. "And I'll be all the way in the south near Tampa," he concludes.

She bobs her head in solemn agreement. "Fuck, right?"

"Fuck," he affirms. "And long distance—"

"Sucks as much as—"

"Boston," Percy finishes, and she laughs.

"Sure, Percy. It sucks as much as Boston."

They're quiet. "It really does, though," he murmurs, and she has to agree. She can't ask him to wait for her, and he would never do that to her. He's not selfish like she is; he wants her to be free, and she has to let him go too.

"You have my number, though. Anytime you want to call me, call me." It won't be the same, but she thinks they both know that without having to say it and crush them both all over again.

"Ditto."

"I really want to kiss you," says Annabeth boldly. She meets his eyes.

"So kiss me," he whispers, and it's almost like a dare. His breath hitches.

She pulls him close to her, and she kisses him fiercely. It's nothing like usual. Usually, it's playful, and sweet, and lighthearted, and now it's desperate and needy, intense, possessive.

Percy doesn't treat her any more fragile than she treats him. It's a clash of tongue and teeth and lips, and they're both breathing heavily. Annabeth lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in as he peppers kisses down her jaw, his fingers trailing along the delicate insides of her wrists and forearms. She wants more. She wants him to touch him so she never forgets, and she unintentionally bites down on his lip, making him groan as he pulls her flush against him, onto his hips until she's straddling him as he makes her feel things she's never felt before.

"Percy," she breathes out. They've probably been out here an hour at least, and they're both dry completely from the little water escapade, but he only growls low in his throat.

"You're not gone yet," he murmurs into her ear, and she can feel the vibrations on the outer shell of her ear. "I won't sit around and pretend you are," he hums, and she hugs him so tight, but it's still not enough. It'll never be enough.

"Percy," she sighs, as if saying his name a thousand times will make this situation better, as if he's not already ingrained in her brain, as if after only a month and a half he's not already taking up half of her thinking capacity.

"Annabeth." He tries to pull away to look at her, but she doesn't want to see him for fear she'll break down entirely. "Annabeth." His voice is hoarse with emotion. She feels him hesitate.

"Don't, Percy. It'll only hurt so much worse."

"I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I don't."

"Perce—"

"I love you," he confides so softly she barely hears him. Annabeth stiffens in his touch, and she knows she wants to hear him say it a thousand more times, and she wants to scream it to the world, but now there's no going back. He loves her, and she loves him more than she ever anticipated she would, and they're only going to be thousands of miles apart for the rest of their lives. "And you're going to be amazing at Cornell." He sounds like he might be crying a little, and it sends her over the edge.

"You're going to change the world with your conservation dreams," she concedes. "You're going to make Eckerd proud."

His shirt dampens with her tears, but he doesn't say anything. They pull away, and they're both misty-eyed, and a tear rolls down Percy's cheek, and she quickly brushes it away. They smile sadly at each other, pathetically at each other, and Annabeth only sniffles more frequently.

"Don't cry," he murmurs, pulling her close to his chest again.

"You started it," she accuses softly, and he shakes with laughter.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." She traces his face. "For what it's worth, I really, _really_ love you too." It's bittersweet, but she presses a kiss to his cheek like he's done to her a million times without thinking about it, like he's done before he runs off into the sea, like he does when he visits her early in the morning, the first habit he has when she opens the door, like he does any time he sees her.

"If you tell me to wait for you," Percy says, his voice cracking. "I'll wait forever."

"I know." She wipes away her tears, her nose runny. Even crying, he still looks like a baby seal, and it makes her heart hurt. "But I can't ask you to do that."

"Yes, you can." Percy presses his palms against hers, feeling their shared warmth.

"I can't." Annabeth shakes her head, sniffling again. "I want to so badly, but I can't. Because you don't belong to me." She's growing up; she knows it. She's learning to let go, and she knows if she lets something go, it'll be happier, and she loves Percy enough to know she wants him happy, even if that means he's happy without her.

"Who do I belong to then?" he asks fervently. "Not myself," he jokes, but he's crying, and she's pissed that she's crying, and it's not as funny when they're both puffy and upset. "I'm too irresponsible to belong to myself."

Annabeth gazes across the water. "You belong to the water, merman." It felt like the most truthful thing she had told him in a long time. He belonged to nature, and nature belonged to him, and they lived in harmony like faeries, and mermaids, and Atlantis, and this world she would never be able to follow him into even if she wanted to. And she's never wanted to more than she does now, but loving is letting go, and this is the part where she steps back, and she watches him thrive, and she's happy for him.

"And you?"

"And I belong to history," Annabeth whispers.

"You're going to build something permanent?" He squeezes her hand, pressing it against his chest so she can feel his heartbeat. It's palpitating wildly, and it only makes her heart beat even faster.

"I hope I already have," she admits, and he smiles, the same smile she's seen a million times and knows she'll never get enough of.

"You have," he promises, and he kisses her again so she can memorize him forever.

…

"I hate goodbyes," says Annabeth at the airport.

"Me too, Beth," Magnus agrees.

She ruffles his hair one last time for good nature. And she's not a totally different person—she still has her own first aid kid, and she's still worrying about who she's going to sit next to on the flight, and she thinks if it's a snorer again she's going to murder someone, but—this is letting go just as much as her obsessive fears. And she thinks they're a little bit better than they were before, and she likes to think they're a little bit better than they were before.

"Study hard, mkay?"

"Okay, _mom_." Magnus rolls his eyes, but he hugs her tight. "Come again next summer, maybe, if you're not too busy with school?" He's hopeful, and Annabeth smiles wide at him. Florida's beautiful, and it's still not really her thing, and she's still wary of water, but it's not the place that makes it wonderful—it's the people—and if there's a promise of coming back to Percy and Magnus again for another summer, she's open to the idea, she really is, and she thinks this is a big step forward for her.

"Eager for me to be in your hair again?" she teases, but Magnus smiles brightly then, his pearly whites gleaming in the sunlight.

"Shut up."

She snorts. "Love you too, dumbass."

"Don't stupid-up Cornell."

"Don't fall off a cliff and die."

"Don't drown."

"Magnus!" Natalie frowns at him, but Annabeth only laughs.

"I'll be busy drowning in homework. Carpal tunnel syndrome, here I come."

"Weirdo." Magnus hugs her one last time, and she squeezes him tight. He's the best support she could've asked for, and she realizes maybe her dad wasn't entirely delusional to send her here, not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

She hugs her aunt and uncle too, and Frey and her share a smile of understanding. They're both stubborn, but she loves him too anyway, and he adores her, the only girl in a line of boy cousins.

"Guess that leaves me." Percy's standing off to the side, his hands in his pockets, awkward and dorky, and this is exactly how she wants to remember him: shy, and sweet, and stupidly pretty, and she loves him.

"Who could ever forget you, Seaweed Brain?" she teases, and he crushes her in a hug. She's aware of Magnus smirking behind Percy, and she just glares at him before turning to Percy. "I expect to see you in the news."

"Oh, really?"

"Saving the sharks," she murmurs. She can feel his breath on hers, and she knows her aunt and uncle are watching, but she also doesn't know if she'll ever see him again—and she wants to believe she will, but she also knows things don't always go as planned. Maybe she'll meet him again someday, meet him where the sky touches the sea, and maybe not. The ocean is the biggest reminder of that as always. Her brother wasn't supposed to die when he was eleven, and she wasn't supposed to come to Florida seven or so years later, and she wasn't supposed to fall for a fisherman's son, and she wasn't supposed to miss her cousin as much as she does already, and she wasn't supposed to feel grateful at all to Frederick for sending her away, but she does, and it is proof that sometimes change isn't as scary as it seems.

"And you'll be there too," he reminds her. "Winning some presidential award and being one of Forbes' thirty under thirty."

She laughs. "Okay," she agrees. Magnus asked her about next summer, but she doesn't want to make promises with Percy, not when they're already emotionally destroyed. So she doesn't ask about next summer or any summer at all. She asks about the inevitable. "I'll see you?" Not when, not where, not how. She'll just see him again, somewhere, sometime, when the world decides she's fearless enough to deserve him entirely, to treasure him like he deserves to be treasured, to love him wholly and fully however he'll take her.

"Yes," he vows. "Somewhere, someday."

"You swear on it?"

"I swear on _us_ ," he finishes.

"Damn you." Annabeth feels hot tears prick at her eyes.

"If you cry, I cry," he warns, his voice heavy, and she kisses him with wild abandon, not caring who's watching, or who's not watching because it's just the two of them. "You always have to be somewhere else, don't you?"

She brushes away her tears. "Why change months of tradition?"

He sighs, letting her hand go, but she surprises him, kissing him one last time, _chastely_ , enough to make her want to sob.

"I love you," she breathes, and before he can even say it back, she's turning her back on them all, waving her hand behind her as she goes. But she can't help herself. It feels like the first night he walked her home in the dark, and she walked into her house, and she couldn't help but glance back at him one last time. She glances behind her, if only for a split-second, but it's enough.

Magnus is hugging his parents, smiling at her, watching her go, and Percy is standing there, alone, but not really ever alone, and he offers the world's tiniest smile, and he doesn't mouth anything to her. He just stands there, and he watches her go like he did that first night, and he's quiet.

Annabeth tears her eyes away as the escalator goes down, carrying her far, far away from Florida and toward her boarding gate for California. She doesn't look back again; she doesn't need to in order to see how far she's come. Besides, looking back means not going forward, and that's not where she wants to be. Looking back means lingering in fear, and yes she's still afraid of car crashes, drowning, getting shot, falling off a cliff, accidental (or purposeful) stabbings, brain-eating lake amoeba, food reheated in plastic containers, scratched teflon pans, x-rays at the dentist's office, raw oysters, and so, so much more, but—

But she's not afraid of the future and all it promises her.

Sometimes the bravest thing you'll ever do, she's realized, is never look back.


	2. California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight TW for sharks if that's a thing you're scared of?

**Seven Years Later**

"This sucks," Piper groans. The brunette melodramatically flops back on Annabeth's couch, blinking up at the blonde innocently.

Annabeth rolls her eyes, not even bothering to be discreet. She sets her pencil down, turning away from her blueprint. "Stop being such a drama queen."

Piper pouts at her. "But I was really looking forward to swimming."

"Piper, you have a _job._ This isn't college. June doesn't mean summer vacation." She cracks a smile, and Piper begrudgingly smiles in return, a much too happy, optimistic person to really stay upset for long.

"But we were going to head down there this weekend! You _promised._ "

"Piper, I can't stop them—whoever they are—from closing down part of the beach. I would still go with you to Long Beach if it was open," Annabeth assures her, and Piper just petulantly crosses her arms over her chest, huffing at the news blasting on the TV.

"Why are they even shutting it down?" The brunette frowns at the screen.

"Aren't you literally watching the news?"

"Good point."

Annabeth half-smiles, exasperated. She pushes herself out of the spinny chair, stealing one of Piper's tortilla chips and swiping it across the salsa before popping it in her mouth with a satisfying crunch. She lazily sits next to Piper on the cushions, peering up at the news with mild interest.

People are hauling barriers to close off part of the beach on the screen, and they're taping it with thick yellow cords. The cameras pan away from the bustle to a pretty, dark-haired report. She smiles, her teeth straighter and whiter than Annabeth's ever seen in her entire life.

"Tell you what," Annabeth begins, and her best friend glances at her before looking back at the TV. "We'll go down to Long Beach anyway, and we can go out for drinks and dinner."

Piper grins. "Now we're talking. I _love_ summer," she cheers, and Annabeth only laughs at her enthusiasm. "The summer collections are looking fabulous," Piper babbles as they eat and somewhat pay attention to the screen. "There's this new sundress idea I had. It's going to be fantastic. You'll model for me, won't you?" Piper winks, and Annabeth scowls. She hates playing dress up for Piper, but it seems to help the brunette more than mannequins, and she loves her friends, she really does, so she puts on the ridiculous dresses that only look good on girls like Piper anyway.

"Oceana is a non-profit company dedicated to protecting the world's oceans on a global scale," the woman says, her words overly crisp. Annabeth cringes; she hates the way they talk on TV. "It's a big deal as they try to track all the marine creatures from the Gulf of California as they make their way along the coast. With so many species on the verge of endangerment, Oceana and the World Wide Fund for Nature have made it clear that 'a resilient ocean sustains marine life and functioning ecosystems that support rich biodiversity, food security, and sustainable livelihoods.' We have with us here one of the two project managers, Calypso, here in California for this shut-down to explain more."

A girl with caramel hair and almond-shaped, sparkling dark eyes smiles on the camera. She's wearing an Oceana shirt and a shell bracelet.

"Can you tell me a little bit about your part and the project, and what exactly is going on?" the reporter directs, and the camera zooms in on Calypso.

"So basically in early summer, sandbar sharks migrate north, and females move into northeastern bays and estuaries in June to have their pups. This is a crucial time," Calypso says loudly over the wind whipping in the camera's audio. "I'm not going to be here long—I usually work in Indonesia and India, and even Pakistan. They're the three largest shark-catching nations in the world, and most fisheries taking sharks are unmanaged or lack catch limits. We're providing support to these governments to develop National Plans of Action for Sharks, and we're not planning to stop at the policy level. We're also striving to collaborate with fishers and communities for mutually beneficial management improvements. So basically I work on preventing illegal sharks on the markets."

"That's incredible, but what's going on here then in California?"

Calypso laughs sweetly. "That would be my partner. I work on the fishing and fin trade aspects, and he's more the other half—the conserving their habitats half. He's tagging the sharks as we speak now, and he called me down to help him supervise." Calypso gestures to all the people. "There's so much going on right now as they try to make sure the animals are happy and healthy. He's also working on cutting down the waste in the oceans to keep the sharks from being trapped, and he's trying to preserve the reefs so sharks have their fish to eat, and we can keep this natural ecosystem going."

"So he keeps the animals happy, and you keep the people happy?" the reporter concludes.

Calypso grins. "Exactly. It's been working really well. Like I said, I'm mostly in Asia, so I take the eastern hemisphere, and he takes the west."

"Where have you guys been?"

Calypso thinks for a moment. "I've been working in the Coral Triangle, Coastal East Africa, and parts of Australia."

"Australia? They have some crazy shark-infested waters, don't they?" The reporter's eyes widen.

Calypso laughs. "My partner and I went to the Great Barrier Reef and the coasts of Australia _just_ to look at them. I think you'll find we're pretty fearless. And besides, there's nothing to fear if you're respectful and knowledgeable. But I wouldn't recommend diving in Australia if you don't know what you're doing!" she adds hastily, and the reporter laughs.

"And your partner?"

"He's in the west, like I said. He deals with the states, like California." She spreads her fingers to gesture to the commotion around her. "New York's Long Island is peak great white territory, and I'm not even sure I'd like going there, but he goes there for _fun._ He also works quite a bit in Florida, Alaska, Hawaii, the Caribbean, the Galápagos, the Mesoamerican Reef, the Gulf of California, all that stuff."

"So you'd say you guys make a good team?"

"The best team." Calypso grins. "I'm really proud of him for moving this into the Gulf of California and Long Beach. It was probably one of the most important places to keep track of the animals, and it was also one of the hardest places to shut down temporarily for research and observance just because of how popular the beach is. I'm really sorry to all the people planning to come down, it's June after all, but this is really important, and we're just trying to protect our earth."

"That's fantastic," the reporter exclaims. "I bet you're pretty busy, though, right? I'll let you go."

Calypso laughs. "I have to go shimmy into a wetsuit now," she agrees, and she dismisses herself as the reporter thanks her one last time. The reporter starts saying a bunch of other stuff, like how long it'll be closed, but Annabeth's not really listening.

She's thinking of a boy she hasn't seen or heard from in over four years, and she's thinking of how proud he'd be to see other people are changing the world too like Calypso. It's not that Annabeth ever meant to lose touch with him—nobody ever means to lose friends—but she got busy with architecture, and Magnus is in his last year of grad school, and they just began texting less and less frequently, and she regrets as much as she suspects he does, and she hasn't thought of him in a while, but wildlife conservation always brings her back to the summer of her eighteenth birthday. She's twenty-four now, and it's been a long time, but she'll never forget the first time she swam after her childhood trauma. Now she can go to pools, and beaches, and oceans, and she still worries—she's not invincible—but she owes her success to a little push from a boy she used to know.

…

Annabeth clinks her glass against Piper's, and they both down their cosmos as elegantly as possible. Sometimes she misses college life. She misses chugging cheap spirits in the trashed kitchen of someone's apartment to get drunk, not to enjoy the taste, and it's moments like this where she has to act like an adult, sipping slowly, that really remind how much she's grown.

They sit by the window, watching from time to time as people scramble around Long Beach. The sun is setting over the horizon, and the water lights up beautifully, shades of orange, and pink, and lavender streaking across the surface. People walk around in bathing suits, dragging towels and other things away from the beach as night nears, but the marine life project is still underway, and two men are carrying boxes full of scuba gear as they make their way to the vacant docks.

"Do you think they ever sleep?" Annabeth muses, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sips again.

Piper considers this. "Maybe they stay awake because they're really excited. I know I've done that all too many times." She smiles at the blonde half-heartedly. "And what are you talking about? I've seen you pull enough all-nighters that I have to practically _drag_ you into bed."

Until they got separate apartments, of course, deciding to finally be adults with their own places. Annabeth traces the wood countertops. "You were _such_ a mom."

Piper scoffs, feigning offense. "I was not."

"Yes, you were." Annabeth pulls away from the rim of the glass to talk. "You were like a Cool Mom™ who dressed all fashionably, and drank tons of wine, and watched Downton Abbey, and nagged their children to take a bath and get into bed so you could hog the TV for The Bachelor."

Piper throws her head back and laughs. "You were the worst kid."

"I was a straight-A student, excuse you."

"Yeah, what kind of mom _wouldn't_ be afraid of genius children?" Piper winks conspiratorially, and Annabeth just smiles into her glass.

…

"Hey, you want to go see the water?" Piper chirps as they stroll around in the sunset. They're just wandering the beautiful city, browsing in stores the brunette's particularly excited about, just treating themselves. It's been a stressful work week for Annabeth. As they finish up the first draft of a building in Texas, the pressure is really piling on her for it to be absolutely flawless, and she has to admit as reluctant as she was to come out here and away from her work, she really did need it.

Piper's apartment isn't on the outskirts of LA, nearing Pasadena, like hers—it's closer to Long Beach, only in Torrance, and they'll probably crash at her place tonight before spending their Saturday hanging out again, and then Annabeth will go back on Sunday to get some work done before the work week begins all over again in its vicious cycle. And Annabeth loves work, don't get her wrong, but it's a mental break she's very much welcoming.

Annabeth shrugs one shoulder, texting back a coworker on her phone and frowning. "Sure."

"Annabeth," Piper berates impatiently. "C'mon, relax. Work won't crumble without you for five minutes. You were on your phone all dinner."

Annabeth glances up guiltily. That's true, and Piper's such a dear friend she feels bad. Piper deserves the world and all of Annabeth's attention and love, but she's always had a hard time finding balance, and a workaholic is the natural product of imbalance.

"Okay, let's see the water," she agrees, pocketing her phone despite the anxiety she gets each time it buzzes against her skin, and she doesn't reply.

…

"We should go surfing tomorrow. The north end of the beach isn't closed yet," Piper comments as people laugh and swim in the salty sea.

Annabeth watches fondly. They remind her so much of herself and Malcolm that she feels that empty dullness that never seems to go away, no matter how many years pass. She surfed about four months ago with Piper and Magnus up near San Francisco, but she had adamantly refused to catch any big waves. It wasn't that she wasn't good, but some fears will always remain, and the further out you go, the bigger they get, and the scarier the idea of riptides becomes. But Piper knows this, and they'll never push her to go further, and so she agrees.

"Looks like we're not the only ones ready to surf." Annabeth points to a girl in a wetsuit paddling out into a large wave. Annabeth squints all of a sudden, recognizing the golden hair.

"Is that the girl on TV?" Piper asks just as Annabeth realizes it, and Annabeth almost laughs.

"Yeah, I think it is. Calypso or something."

Piper laughs. "That's got to be a strange job. It's like work… but it's also play at the same time."

Annabeth grins. She's seen Piper fussing over dresses as she sews late in the night. All people who know what's good for their health choose careers that're also their play. "She's good," she notes, watching as Calypso catches a tall wave, and she's laughing, swirling through the barrel of water as it closes around her. At the last moment, she wipes out, the nose of her board getting caught, and she splashes into the water, gasping and beaming as her head comes up over water.

Piper's vaguely amused. "Of course she's good. She's probably been surfing since she could walk."

Someone laughs near her, and Annabeth glances up to see someone else riding the same wave Calypso fell from so easily it's almost second nature, almost smugly glancing down at Calypso, and she rolls her eyes playfully as he expertly descends from the waves, cleanly, professionally as if he's done this a thousand times. He has dark black hair, unruly as ever and slick with water, and he's tall and leaner from years of swimming against powerful currents, and he looks as good as he always does, maybe even better, and it's so inconvenient, and she would recognize that laugh _anywhere_ —

It feels like all the air's been knocked out of Annabeth. "Is that…?" Her lips part in surprise.

"Annabeth? You look like you've seen a ghost." Piper's shaking her, but she can't tear her eyes away. "Do you want to go back to my apartment? Sweetheart, you're _pale_."

It goes through one ear and out the other.

Calypso walks onto the beach, and he walks and talks with her, both of them joking, and they're coming closer, and closer, and _closer_ , and she has this irrational urge to hide. She's not really sure why—it's not they grew apart bitterly or anything; they just grew busy—but he's going to see her if she doesn't get out of the way, and Annabeth turns desperately to Piper. She's waited all her life for this moment, and she's freezing up. "Yeah, the water just brings back bad memories sometimes."

Piper's expression softens. "C'mon, let's go," she concedes, bumping her shoulder against Annabeth's playfully, and the blonde manages a weak smile. She really wants to make Piper move faster, but she doesn't want her to ask questions either because Annabeth _knows_ she's acting weird, but she really doesn't want to face him and—

"Annabeth?"

She freezes, cringing, practically holding her breath before turning around and awkwardly looking up at him. Calypso and Percy stand in front of her, dripping wet, and they're both in professional Oceana wetsuits, probably for diving, and they're holding surfboards, and she thinks she's going to _die_ from mortification. His sea-green eyes are bright with recognition, and his face slowly changes from confusion to the same sweet smile that hasn't changed a stitch since she left for California seven years ago. What are the odds she'd run into him _here_ , in California?

"Percy," she acknowledges, and his name feels so old on her tongue, but _good._ The good kind of old where it's so natural, only you've forgotten how good it feels to say.

Piper looks at her quizzically, and Calypso glances up at Percy, just as puzzled.

"Um, Piper, this is Percy. Percy, Piper—my best friend in the whole world," Annabeth lamely introduces. Mirth dances in Percy's eyes, and she can tell he's trying not to laugh. Bastard. She scowls at him, looking only at Piper because she just _cannot_ stand the way he's looking at her, his gaze burning holes through her, getting under her skin. "I met him in Florida in the summer of '17, remember?"

"I remember you being forced to go to Florida. I don't remember you telling me about _him_." Piper's smiling so wide, and it's so obvious, and Annabeth's ninety-nine percent sure she's fighting a blush, and this just sucks.

Percy snorts at her stupid explanation. "Jeez, I haven't seen you in… what's it, seven years now?"

She nods in agreement. "You're here for the conservation effort? I should've known."

Percy smiles at her, and it's that same lopsided, trouble-maker smile that makes her heart beat so much faster. "This is Calypso," he introduces, gesturing to the girl by his side. She waves politely.

"Yeah, we saw you guys on the news," Piper chimes in, and she's so enthusiastic and excited that Annabeth wants to crawl up in a hole and die.

Calypso laughs, and it's even prettier in real life than over camera. "Yeah, I probably sounded like a major dork, but I can't be worse that this guy." She shoves Percy, and he rolls his eyes, the dimple in his left cheek surfacing. "Go on, seduce them with your shark spiel."

Percy glares at her, and she laughs.

"You're a project manager, right?" Piper interrupts.

Calypso smiles with her teeth. "Yep. I'll be heading back to Asia in a week or so, but I'm just here to support my fellow project manager."

Annabeth raises an eyebrow. "Project manager?"

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "It sounds more stuffy than it really is. In reality, I just kick it with the ocean creatures half the time."

Calypso's smile deepens at that. "That's pretty much our entire job description. Call it a marine biologist, a researcher, a scientist whatever, but at the end of the day we just play in the water like we're five." She eyes Percy sardonically. "Well, he's three."

"Hey!" Percy protests, shielding himself with his board. Calypso snickers.

"Loser," she mutters, and Annabeth can't help but smile, taking a liking to her immediately.

"Well," Annabeth trails off, still somewhat awkward. She shifts her weight from her left to right leg. "We'd better get going."

Piper looks at her oddly, and Annabeth knows with certainty that the second they walk away, she's going to blow up on her, interrogating her, chastising her for walking away in the first place. Annabeth eyes Percy, wondering if awkward conversation is really better than being yelled at by Piper, and she decides that no, no it's not.

"Oh." Percy tilts his head to one side, and he has the _exact_ same mannerisms he had when he was eighteen, and it sends shivers down Annabeth's sides. It's like staring at her past, and present, and future all together at the same time, and it's surreal. "Still have somewhere to be?"

She freezes, and he's smiling when she peeks shyly at him. "Well, it's been a long day," she excuses herself, uncomfortable that she can't hide anywhere. She's not even wearing a jacket for goodness sake. "And I haven't quite given up on running around yet." His expression is warm and understanding, but she can sense the disappointment too.

"I see. Well, it was nice seeing you, Wise Girl?" His voice wavers, unsure, looking to her to gauge her reaction, and she bites her lip hesitantly.

Piper stills next to her, and Annabeth knows that's going to be one of the questions too. Her face goes warm all over at the nickname.

"For sure. I'll see you around, maybe," says Annabeth half-heartedly, and it feels so empty and unlike them, and she doesn't call him 'Seaweed Brain,' and a flash of hurt passes over his face, and it makes everything hurt inside her because she knows she's responsible for it. "Nice meeting you." She nods to Calypso whose lips just twitch in mild amusement, and she nods in return, politely. "Good luck with your project," Annabeth says, bidding them goodbye, and before she can overthink it, she turns around and walks away, everything inside of her crawling and feeling itchy.

This time she doesn't spare a glance back.

…

"What the hell was that?" Piper demands as she catches up with Annabeth's long strides.

The blonde breathes unevenly, running her fingers through her hair messily. Annabeth shrugs helplessly.

"You never told me you met a cute boy down in Florida," she accuses.

"Piper," Annabeth begs, but she's not finished.

"And he's a good surfer, and he has a _dimple_ , and um, did you even see his eyes? And he called you by a nickname, Smart Girl or something, and that's so freaking cute, and he has a _dimple_ , and why the hell are you giving him the cold shoulder?"

"Piper." Annabeth pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "I haven't seen him since I was eighteen. I'm not the same girl I was back then."

The brunette's expression softens, if only for a moment. "I know." She squeezes Annabeth's, a reminder of how much braver she's grown through the years. "But seriously, what is wrong with you? Did you see the look on his face? He's still hopelessly in love with you."

"Piper, he doesn't even know me anymore. I haven't even texted him since my sophomore year of _undergrad_ ," Annabeth articulates.

"And he's successful, and he loves the earth and the ocean," Piper continues as if she hadn't heard a thing. Annabeth groans, putting her face in her hands. "And who doesn't love a good meet-cute? Tell me _all_ about him."

Annabeth reluctantly caves as they climb into her car, driving up to Piper's apartment.

"So did you fuck him?" Piper interrupts at the part where he first took her to grotto.

Annabeth's entire face goes beet red. "Way to be subtle, Pipes."

"Did you, though?" Piper taps the steering wheel, cheerful despite the late of night.

"No! I knew him like two months; please let it be," Annabeth begs. "It wasn't that serious." _But it was_ , something in the back of her mind nags. He's the only one she's ever told she loved. The only one. Not the socially awkward, techie guys of Silicon Valley who make six figures but still live with roommates like college frat boys; not the upper-middle class engineers and overall humble, decent guys in San Francisco; not the university boys from Ithaca, New York during her undergrad years; not the wicked-smart guys in New York City at Columbia during graduate years; not anything like the long-term relationship Piper has had with Jason Grace; no one but him.

Because she's never felt the same connection with anybody like she's felt with Percy, and she told herself it was because they were young, and stupid, and in love, and in love with the idea of a summer love, and that's all it was—but if it really was, why can't she get a move on? She's not _unhappy_ being alone—she's quite self-sufficient and reliant—but she misses the kind of bond she had with a certain Seaweed Brain. She misses holding his hand as they grew up through the best years, or months in their case, of their life. She misses tipping over the edge of her coming-of-age moments, and she misses kisses on the rocky cliffs of his freshwater grotto, and watching him swim with things that could probably chew her up to bits but seem to only nuzzle against him, and hugging him, and baking him lame cakes, and stolen kisses by the seaside, and chasing the dawn, the sand sticking grossly to toes, but nobody cares anyways because they have chocolate milk, and fish and sticks, and water surrounding them like it's their own little island of private, inside jokes, and laughing so hard they can't breathe, and it's been a while.

"It's got to be," Piper interrupts her internal monologue, and Annabeth groans and looks out the window. "He didn't look like he was dating that girl next to him, and she was hot."

"Piper! Oh my god, have you no shame?" Annabeth covers her face, leaning onto the window. "They're coworkers. _I'd_ never date my coworkers. That's highly unprofessional."

Piper rolls her eyes. "That's boring."

"You have a boyfriend!"

"Hey, I'm talking about _other_ people. Like Silena, bless her heart, she's totally getting it on with our usual photographer Beckendorf. She even calls him 'Charlie.' There's no way that's not a thing."

"Poor Silena," Annabeth sympathizes with her coworker. "Everyone's probably all up in her business." Maybe if she directs her to her work, she'll lay off Percy.

Piper shrugs. "They're not exactly subtle. Just like you and Percy," she remembers, glancing knowingly at Annabeth.

Annabeth scowls. "I wasn't even flirting with him."

"You don't even know how to flirt."

"That's so not true."

"It is _so_. I've only seen you lose your shit over buildings, Annabeth. You're building-sexual."

"Please stop." This is the most embarrassing conversation Annabeth's had in a long time.

"Nope!" Piper pops the 'p.' "Not until you agree to text him. You guys are _perfect_. You're all work-y, and he's all swim-y."

"Are you even speaking English?" Annabeth scoffs. "Besides, we're not living out your Hallmark fantasy, Pipes. And I don't have his number anymore."

"Oh, sweetie." Piper laughs dryly as she turns into her complex. "It's not my fantasy; it's yours." She purses her lips. "And you may be able to lie to everyone around you, but you can't lie to me. You're such a hoarder, Beth; there's no way you deleted his number. I can't believe you ever fell for such a low key guy. It's mind-boggling."

"Neither can I," Annabeth mumbles under her breath, quietly enough that she thinks Piper won't hear.

"I knew it!" Piper shrieks, and Annabeth fearfully grabs onto the side of the car at Piper's reckless, crappy driving as the brunette takes a sharp turn around the corner in excitement. Annabeth has never regretted not sitting behind the wheel more than she does now.

…

"I said 'hi,' okay? Happy?" Annabeth growls at a sweetly smiling Piper, eating pizza cheerfully on her couch.

"Very," Piper confirms.

Annabeth nervously flops onto the couch. She hasn't texted him in forever, and now she remembers why. The anxiety of waiting for a reply is a slow-killer. He's probably diving or busy, or maybe he changed his number at some point, and this is going to a stranger.

Annabeth checks her phone as she brushes her teeth. No reply.

She checks again before crawling into the shower to unwind and wash the grime of the day away. No reply.

She checks again as she combs out her damp hair in front of the mirror. No reply.

She checks again as she curls up in Piper's guest room, tugging the covers up to her chin as she flops sideway into the bed. No reply.

…

Her phone pings at three in the morning, and Annabeth is ashamedly watching old videos on her phone of Percy surfing from that summer so long ago. She's just about to rewatch the same forty-second clip of him talking with the fish as if they can actually understand him for the twelfth time in the past half an hour when he responds, and she practically jumps in her bed.

Annabeth quickly tugs down the notification, biting her lip anxiously.

(3:39am) **hi**

Annabeth inhales sharply.

(3:40am) **sorry it took so long to get back to you. I was out diving all night.**

She hesitates.

(3:41am) _isn't it freezing?_

She watches with anticipation as the three dots float around the screen, haunting her.

(3:41am) **yeah but I won't complain. it's a good job.**

(3:41am) _it suits you_

(3:42am) **so what's up?**

Annabeth frowns. Nothing in particular, of course. She considers telling him Piper forced her to text, but then she remembers the way his face fell earlier than day, and she quickly backspaces.

(3:44am) _nothing much._

He doesn't reply for a while, and she almost goes up, ready to call it a night. She _knew_ it would be awkward, and he didn't even like her anymore, and—

(3:52am) **Are we going to talk about your shady behavior today or no?**

She lets out a sigh at his blatant honesty. Some things, she supposes, never change.

(3:53am) _I wasn't planning to._

She frowns.

(3:54am) _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to brush you off today._

(3:57am) **Brush me off?**

Her phone lights up, his name flashing across the screen. There's a picture of him sitting on the bar stool in that corner shop off the coast of Islamorada, sipping at a drink, and he's half-smiling sarcastically, the straw between his lips, amused by something Grover's saying. He looks so young.

She inhales shakily before picking up. He doesn't say anything at first, and they're both silent over the line, quiet enough that she wonders if he mistakenly called, but then he speaks.

"I just figured you felt awkward," Percy says, breaking the silence. His voice is smooth and beautiful. It sounds like how she imagines Florida would sound.

Annabeth swallows thickly. "Well, kind of. I wasn't expecting to see you."

"Yeah, me neither." He laughs tiredly, and she feels the overwhelming urge to tell him to go to bed, and eat something maybe, and sleep like she always did when he came back from a dive. He must've been under the water for at least eight hours just today. "You looked well today," he says.

She nods until she remembers he can't see her. "Yeah, yes… I mean. I just drove down to Piper's place from LA for the weekend for a little break from work."

"An architect, I remember." She hears the smile in his voice. "Where'd you end up, then?"

"Graduated from Cornell, went to Columbia for the graduate architecture program, and now I work at Gensler near LA."

"Gensler?" Percy's quiet in silent awe. "Two Ivy Leagues and a top firm? Jesus, Beth," he praises, and she smiles shyly to herself.

"You?"

"What about me?" he teases, and it feels like old times.

"Percy," she says, exasperated.

He quietly laughs. "Okay, okay. Graduated from Eckerd," he begins, and she nods. She remembers seeing him in the news for some conservation protest. Magnus had sent her a link. "Went to Coral Gables, Florida for the University of Miami and finished up marine biology and biochemistry, and moved my way up ranks in Oceana, but you've probably guessed that by now. Me and my sharks, Wise Girl, and the reefs, and the endangered species, and conservation, as it was always meant to be. I don't really stick to anywhere too long—"

"Yeah, I was watching the news," Annabeth interrupts. "That a crap ton of places."

He pauses, and then he laughs again. "Yeah, I've been around," he agrees.

"A favorite?" she prompts.

"Obviously, Australia. They've got the most sharks, and nothing beats the Great Barrier Reef. But a close second is probably Alaska, even if it was a bitch to swim in. So cold."

She laughs as they fall into easy conversation. "You still visit Florida?"

"Sometimes. Gotta see my dad. Old friends. Magnus."

She hums softly in agreement. "Yeah, me too. Aunt and uncle and Magnus. But my dad's still close, only in the Valley, so." She hesitates. "It's super cool you lived out your dreams, though."

He breathes unevenly over the opposite end, and something crumples on the other side. She assumes he's eating—good. "Yeah. You too."

"Mhm." She pauses. "You know, there's this guy who said 'if he writes her a few sonnets, he loves her. If he writes her 300 sonnets, he loves sonnets.'"

"And where are you going with this?" His tone is dry, and she can practically see his failing attempt to disguise his amusement, his lips twitching with humor.

"So which shark did you marry?"

He laughs loudly. "You're almost worse than Calypso."

She grins to herself. "I do try," she breathes."

"For the record, there was a particularly feisty great white in Long Island, and I would pick her."

Annabeth snorts. "I bet she was gorgeous."

"Oh, she was. Sharp teeth. Tried to bite me. It was super kinky."

She erupts in laughter, unable to contain it any longer. "You need to stop before I can't tell if you're joking anymore or not."

He laughs. "Probably." And then, "but you already knew the feisty ones are my favorite." He speaks so softly it pains her.

Annabeth swallows hard. "Did she also have somewhere else to be?"

"Always. Looks like I just have bad luck."

"Percy…"

"Calypso thought I was gay, by the way. Until I told her about you." He laughs, but it's short and quiet and painful. Annabeth's heart squeezes. "And now she just thinks I'm a heartbroken dumbass. And… she'd be right."

Annabeth's breath hitches. "Perce." But he doesn't stop.

"I guess it's my fear of heights—never got over that by the way, not like your brave ass. And we stopped talking, got busy, and I never called again, and you didn't call, and it's hard when you're on top of the world like that because… because the fall is inevitable. And it's never been so scary to fall until you're standing light-years above where you used to be."

She feels like she can't breathe. They're quiet for some time. "I went surfing a couple months back."

"Did you? How'd that go?"

"Caught the tiny waves."

"Lucky waves. I'd love to catch you."

"That was terrible."

"You've said it before—I'm terrible."

She lets out a shaky breath. "I missed you. Columbia boys couldn't wait to tell me about their science projects like I was their mom, and LA guys just told me about their keto diets, and I really just wanted to smack them all."

"Did you?"

"One. But that was because he thought it'd be funny to scare me with a spider."

"Asshole." Percy sounds bitter.

"He was," she agrees. "I don't date assholes, though."

"God, I hope so."

She smiles weakly. "And you?"

"There's not much luck when you always smell like fish."

She snorts. "That's a terrible excuse. You're like the fittest person I know."

"I _am_ glorious, aren't I?" Percy agrees, but it lacks his usual joking confidence. It's empty, like they've become.

"What are we doing, Perce?" she whispers.

"I don't know," he mumbles. There's a small silence before he continues. "I have a little place in Long Beach, even if I don't stay there long, and I'm just busy traveling everywhere, and I love it, but I miss making friends and staying somewhere. I've only got my coworkers with me, and even then I don't see them often. You heard Calypso. She's off in Asia half the time, and she hasn't seen her boyfriend in three months. It's tough on her. And that's scary."

"You're not supposed to be afraid of anything," she reminds him.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Annabeth," he whispers, and she feels tears prick at her eyes. It's hard to hear him feel hurt. "I love my job, but I think I finally get what it's like to feel afraid. We always thought we were invincible, but you, as crazy as it all made you, you always knew. You knew we were destined to be afraid, and the older I get the more I feel like I'm running out of time, and it's stupid because I'm twenty-four, and that's not even old yet, but I feel it anyways, you know?" He shudders slightly. "And I want the reckless minds we had to come back, and I want to fill up the empty spaces with our thoughts, and I want to feel like I used to—with you. And I know things are pretty good now, but pretty good isn't enough—what can I say? I'm restless."

She chokes on her words a little, and the tears have pooled at the wells in her eyes now. She refuses to let them fall. "I know, Percy. I'm the exact same."

"What happened to simpler times?" he asks no one in particular. "What happened to sitting on boardwalks, and feeling invincible, and jumping into the unknown together?"

"I don't know, kiddo," she whispers.

"A shark bit me, Annabeth." His voice trembles. "In Australia."

She curses. "How bad?"

"Really fucking bad. I had to be stitched up, and Calypso was crying all over the place, and I felt weirdly guilty for being bitten, and now there's this ugly scar on my stomach, and it's earth-shattering."

She swears again. "I'm so sorry, Percy."

"And it didn't make me afraid, not really. I knew it would come someday sooner or later, but it… it really shocked me. I'm not a merman, Beth." He laughs, and it sounds like he might be crying too. "We're all human, and we'll never be enough, and I've never wanted to be enough for anyone else but you. And I can't be. Because I can't stay in one place."

"Seems like our roles have reversed." She sniffles on the line.

"I've always got somewhere to be," he agrees. "There's never going to be anybody else for me, and it's stupid because I didn't even know you that long, but it felt like I'd known you all my life."

"Percy, you're going to make me cry," she admits, reaching for a tissue to dry her tears.

"Over me? God, please don't. It's not worth it."

"You've always been worth every bit of everything, Perseus Jackson."

He sniffles. "Shut up."

"Percy?"

"I still love you, and I don't know you anymore, not really, but I want to."

She inhales sharply.

"And I know you've got a million reasons to hesitate, but I also know you're the one who walked out into that airport that day, and you looked to the future, and so did I, and we got where we wanted to be, and I want to—I _have_ to believe the future will be better every day, and every day will be better than the last because I don't know how else to cope with it. I've… wasted so much time on people that reminded me of you, and they all burned out like birthday candles, and it'll never be the same, not really, and I'm sorry I could never hold you into the night, and I'm sorry the best years are back in college, and I'm sorry that we can't go back, but I just want—" he cut himself off, clearing his throat. "I don't know what I want."

"Percy, where are you?"

"I'm… I'm at some idea of a home. Long Beach house."

She hesitates.

"I'm texting you the address."

Her phone pings on cue. It's barely fifteen minutes from here. "I'll be there in a few," she says, and before he can say anything, she hangs up.

…

It's pitch black outside, and she slams her car door behind her. Percy opens the door, as if he saw her come up the door, and he's standing there, and he's real, and he's looking at her nervously, but she's not scared at all—she knows this boy like the palm of her hand—and she nearly runs up to him, standing in his doorway.

Annabeth reaches for him slowly, her hand pressing against his, and it's just as warm as she remembers. It's callused with years of hard labor and rough from the salty sea, and he smells like shampoo, and he's in fresh boxers, and neither of them really give a shit. She shivers under his touch, and before she can think about it too much, she presses her lips against him with such force they both stumble back into his apartment, and she kisses him.

…

Percy's serious expression morphs into a small, crooked smirk that makes her stomach feel tight, and he slowly kisses her into submission on his bed, and he's sweet, and he kisses slowly in a way that makes her want to cry out from anticipation. She's waited seven years to touch him again, seven years to relive her best summer, seven years to feel loved and in love like she does now, and she wants more.

He trails kisses along her jaw, tugging on her earlobe gently with his thumb and forefinger, and she tenses at the contact. He pulls away to study her, and she should feel self-conscious—she's accustomed to the feeling—but she doesn't. He gazes at her like she's his greatest treasure, he looks at her like he looks at the water before he paddles into a wave, admiring her like she's his whole world, and she only feels full. His lips worship every inch of her skin, methodically working down the sweet spot between the base of her neck and her collarbone, across her clavicle, and she presses her hand against his sternum, splaying her hand across his chest.

There are small scars lining his body, stories of his life, but he has never looked more beautiful than he does now, his heart cracked open only for her to see. And she traces the curved line on his abdomen—it can't be much larger than five inches in length—and she knows he had to get stitches for it, and it's healed, but there'll always be a scar, a reminder that even the Shark Whisperer isn't invincible, and she kisses his scar, making him shudder.

He presses his mouth around the dips and swells and curves of her figure, and he laces his fingers with her with his right hand, his left hand curving around her waist, barely brushing against her skin like a feather. He works downward, and her back arcs almost immediately at the intense sensation of his fingers curling. She can feel his soft breathing on her, and she is sure he can hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest, a direct reaction to his ministrations. He smirks, the smug bastard, when she lets out an incoherent string of curses.

She's seen the way he smiles when she laughs at his jokes, and she's seen the way he lights up every time someone feels better after his hugs and his comfort, and she's seen him take pride in making people around him happy, and he's a gentle soul, and he's an emotional drunk, and she should've _known_ Percy Jackson was the type of guy to get pleasure from pleasuring others.

She comes down from her high, and he barely gives her a second to fall back to earth before he's building her up again, his fingers teasing his name out of her mouth. He's dedicated, devoted, addicted, focused like she's never seen him before. He doesn't treat her like he treats the rest of his life. He's not careless yet he's reckless; he's not overly attached yet he's invested; he's sending her on cloud nine for the rest of her life, and he smiles knowingly, lazily, _smugly_ , and she can't _breathe_ , and this time she goes with him to no-man's land, to the place he's always gone inside his head, the place she's never been able to follow, but she follows him now, hand in hand with his dream, and they go somewhere unworldly, where there are no bodies—only souls and hearts exposed like faces—and his teeth graze her skin, and his lips torture her so sweetly that she entangles her fingers in his hair, desperate for some way to ground her because he's taking her higher, and higher, and _higher_ , and he uses his fingers as weapons, coaxing her to the brink of insanity, the moment right before the fall as he works his merman magic, the fine line between pain and pleasure and frustration, and she's gasping out muddled version of his name—only ever his name—and she's meeting him somewhere ethereal, and she feels like she's ran a thousand miles.

And she wonders if this is how addicts feel when they're taking a drug for the first time, knowing they're going down a dark path—only it's light with him—and they know they'll never be able to give it up, but they tread recklessly anyways, motivated only by the feeling of ecstasy that comes with letting go of worries and needs and survival, and there's only the feeling of him on her, then in her, and she feels the absurd need to cry, really cry, because that's how deep her feelings run for him—as deep as the ocean, and still further down.

She feels his fingers come up to cup her face in his hand, his slender fingers stroking her lips affectionately, and he brushes away her tears without any judgement. He knows he's responsible for them, she knows he knows, and he will never use her tears against her.

He murmurs sweet nothings into her skin, and she writhes under his touch, relishing the way he murmurs like a madman, like he's waited so long to say her name he can't say anything but it. His chest heaves, panting with her, and he manages to prop himself up as they reach their end, on the last rollercoaster up. And he watches with innocent fascination—much too innocent for what he's doing to her in his lascivious assault—as she crumbles, splitting at the seams beneath him, admiring her once more as she falls apart for him. She's probably slightly flushed, and sweaty, and her hair is most likely mussed, but he's obsessed, and she realizes part of his pleasure is knowing he is the only one to make her come apart this much; he is the only one to make her cry in his bed as he makes love to her; he is the only one allowed to make her eyelashes heavy with sated satisfaction, and he is the only one allowed to hold her through the night as she drifts off, and he will be there in the morning to wake with his face in the crook of her neck, his heavy arms weighing down her slight frame, and he will be the only one to see her in the daylight like this when the sun rises over the water, watching them once more.

As she falls into the night, the lines between awake and satiated to sleep blurring, she only hears him whispering that he loves her again, and then she dissolves into her subconscious, dreaming of surfing on waves so high even reality can't reach her anymore.

…

Annabeth wakes to nothing in particular. Maybe it's the way Percy's fingers curl around her hips as he sleeps, or maybe it's the light streaming through his curtains—they'd forgotten to shut them, or maybe it's that Percy's a big cuddler and his body heat is extremely warm, but she's awake by nine in the morning. Her phone is void of texts—she left Piper a note on her bedside table—and it's serene.

Percy's fingers trace mindless shapes in her stomach, and his breathing is no longer even, and she knows he's awake—he's just quiet. He had once told her he doesn't talk much either, and she had scoffed at him then, disbelieving, but he had been as truthful as always. She thinks he talks even less than she does. He only talks when people aren't looking, talks to make people smile, and then he is silent.

"Morning," she whispers, still facing his window, her back pressed against his chest. He drops a kiss to her shoulder, and a dull warmth spreads across her, like mini lightning bolts of electricity traveling from the spot on her shoulder down to her toes.

"Mhm," is all he manages, unable to speak coherently when just woken, and his voice is husky with sleep, and she's never found anything more attractive in all her years. She's grateful she's faced away from him as she blushes pink, sinful montages of last night coming to mind.

"You don't talk until you get food, do you?" She feels him smile into her delicate skin, and she takes that as a yes. "Didn't you surf in the mornings, though? Woke up with dawn like the psycho you are?" She has no idea who would wake up at five in the morning to surf, especially when that's shark hour, but that's Percy for you. He nods into her back, and it tickles. She smiles into the pillow. "You don't want to get up, do you?" He shakes his head slowly, and she turns to face him, battling the sheets to see him.

Percy's eyes are closed, beautiful shadows cast over his face, emphasizing his sharp angles and soft lips and hair. He's half-smiling, and she knows he knows she's looking at him, and he doesn't care.

"I want to brush my teeth," she tells him. "Food." She pokes his chest, but he doesn't move, save for his smile spreading slightly. Annabeth tries to sit up, but he tightens his grip on her, refusing to let her get up. "Percy," she sighs, smiling to herself. "Let me go."

"No," he mumbles into the pillow.

"You're being childish."

He peeks at her through one open eye before slowly cracking the other open as well. "Childish?"

"Childish," she insists, teasing.

He closes his eyes again. "Well, Calypso said I was three," he agrees whole-heartedly.

She smacks his arm, and he smothers a smile into the sheets. She's surprised his smile doesn't hurt her anymore, not when she knows she's completely his, and he's completely hers, and she knows they have logistics to work out, and issues to talk through, but she loves him, and it's enough.

She squirms out of his grasp, and now he looks fully, unashamedly, as she wanders his room bare in search of her clothes.

"Oh, now you're awake?" She pointedly glares at him, but her hair is all over the place from last night, and she's _naked_ , and it's hard to be threatening. He smirks.

"I'm very awake," he assures her. "You're my favorite show."

"Glad to be of entertainment," she mutters, and he looks pleased with himself, amused. She finds his shirt and gives up on the search for her own, just slipping his over her head instead.

Percy props up on his elbow to peer at her, the light streaming around her like a halo, dressed in nothing but his clothes, and he smiles to himself, shyly, satisfied. "I should put you in my clothes more often," he comments nonchalantly, and she throws his boxers at his face as he laughs before she ducks into his bathroom.

…

They sit across from each other. Percy pours her a cup of coffee even if he doesn't drink any himself, and she sips at it—he's remembered she likes it black—while he gracefully moves around the kitchen, making eggs for the both of them.

Annabeth's mildly aware this is such a simple staple most people experience often—eating breakfast together—and they've run around on beaches, and gone to museums, and she's watched him do all sorts of crazy shit, and they've never even known how they each take their eggs. Percy is a hardcore scrambled kind of guy, and she goes for a classic sunny-sideup with runny yolk. Percy slides them onto two different plates, handing her a fork, and she sits at the kitchen island and he digs another fork out of the drawer for himself. He leans on the counter across from her, digging in almost immediately. Food is his wake-up call.

Annabeth chews. "It's good," she assures him when he looks at her curiously, awaiting her reaction. She grins a little. "I don't know how you would fuck up eggs."

Percy rolls his eyes, cracking a smile. "You'd be surprised. My dad's the worst cooking offender, but my mom trained me well."

She laughs. "I bet."

He devours his eggs in record time and makes himself toast, and she turns down his offer at more food, and she watches with fascination as he eats like a monster, his appetite at least three times the size of hers. She imagines it's because he spends his whole day exercising—it's part of his job and his passion—but that doesn't make it any less captivating.

Percy eyes her carefully, taking in every inch of her skin while he sips on some icy water. She's only in his shirt and nothing more, and she can practically feel him undressing her with his eyes. It's odd to feel wanted like this when she hasn't in so long, at least not in a way that mattered to her, only to the other guy, and he makes her feel like a sorceress, like she alone can tame him and drive him wild a the same time, and the power is so seductive.

"You know, I finally see what you mean," Percy points out, putting his cup down beside the sink.

"Humor me," she challenges, lacing her fingers together and dropping her chin onto them.

"About the not wearing a shirt thing," Percy briefly explains, and his adorable dimple shallowly makes an appearance.

"Mhm?" She's coy, and she crosses her legs together at his burning gaze, unable to help the way he makes her feel. His serious expression alone sends more electrical currents coursing through her veins and skin than anyone else's _touch_ has even come close to. She raises an eyebrow, daring him to complete the thought. The way he always looks so serious yet soft drives her crazy, and she doesn't know how he does it.

"I can see how it can be distracting," he adds softly, seductively, and she feels her breathing go shallow.

She blinks innocently, her eyelashes fluttering. "But I'm wearing a shirt." She's stolen his, leaving his upper half bare, turning him into her personal eye-candy.

"You're _only_ wearing a shirt," he points out correctively, and he sounds just as affected as she is.

She smiles cheekily. "That sounds about right," she teasingly confirms, the counter cold under her fingers. She has no shame, not around him, and she loves the way his lips part in surprise, in wicked fascination by her coquettish insinuations.

It's silent for a moment, and Percy breaks it first, his chair screeching back out of nowhere, and Annabeth scrambles out of her chair, her reflexes kicking in, running from him as the chase begins. She laughs madly as he hunts her down. She stands on his couch cushions, balancing carefully, and he waits with amusement to see where she'll go next. She's cornered, but she likes being cornered by him. He catches her around the waist when she tries to jump for her escape, and she goes limp in his hold, grinning from ear to ear.

"It's not fair," she pants. "You're fast."

"You wanted a head start?" Percy mocks, trailing kisses down her neck, and she can't even respond, caught off guard by him. "No?" He grins impishly, completely aware he's hindering her ability to answer with his compensating touch. "No, you didn't want a head start?" he teases again, and she tries to glare at him, but he cajoles his name from her mouth, and she can't even think straight, much less smack him. "Just as I thought," he concludes, covering her mouth with his own, and she submits to his touch and love.

…

"Are we going to talk about it?" Annabeth finally asks as he plays with her hair, her head tucked on his chest and her hand trapped by his, both of them tightly knit on his bed. Piper texted about an hour ago, excited, and Annabeth's grateful Piper's not too mad they're not going surfing together. Piper says one of her friends invited her to lunch anyway, and that makes the blonde feel a little bit better.

"Why does this feel like when you left?" Percy whispers, and she feels the exact same way, except it's Percy this time who needs to go, who needs to travel to Australia, and Alaska, and South America, and other states, and places he'll go while she stays in California, finishing up her building.

"Because you're leaving in two weeks for Long Island," she points out. He stiffens under her.

"I have to."

"I know."

"I'll be back," he promises.

She caresses his jaw. "I know, Seaweed Brain."

"I'll miss you," he ventures delicately.

"I'll _always_ miss you," she concedes, and he kisses her softly, gently, quickly before pulling back and falling onto the bed. Her hand feels small in his. "How often do you go away?"

"At least once a month," he admits. "For one to two weeks."

"So you spend a little more than half the year in California and the other half traveling?" she clarifies, and he nods slowly, eyeing her carefully, trying to see where she's going with this. Annabeth bites her lip. She's been thinking about this morning, save for the period of time when she was only occupied with Percy's body against hers, and she thinks she can live with this. "I'm really busy all the time," she tells him. He nods. "I clock in sixty hours or so a week, sometimes more if a deadline is especially rough." Percy's mouth twists into a grim frown, but he nods again. "Last week I hit ninety because this Texan skyscraper is a really big deal." She works long hours like him because of their sheer passion for their respective fields. "I wouldn't be a super attentive… girlfriend anway," she explains, the term alien on her tongue. He doesn't look away from her, silent with anticipation. "And neither would you."

"I wouldn't be an attentive girlfriend?" Percy interrupts teasingly, but he swallows worriedly.

She offers a tight smile. "You'd be the worst girlfriend."

He smiles, but it's also hollow.

"So let's not do that," she says cautiously.

He hesitates.

"Let's not put ourselves in a limit that we have to follow, and let's not pretend that we'll have a normal relationship," Annabeth decides, warming to the core of her plan. "But maybe when you're home…" she trails off, hoping he'll get it.

His mouth curves up in understanding, and she knows he does.

"Maybe I'll come over when you're home, or you'll come over when I'm not too busy, or I'll meet you at a restaurant for lunch, and maybe I'll bake you a birthday cake in two months," she whispers. He can't help the boyish smile that graces his features, and her heart beats faster in her chest.

"Or maybe I'll meet you at the beach, and we'll go swimming," he whispers inquisitively, and she nods in agreement. She never feels afraid when he holds her in the water. She trusts him implicitly, entirely. "Or maybe I'll see you in my bed." He smirks, and she laughs, relishing the cathartic release that comes with letting the tension unfold around them. He smiles adoringly at her laugh, pleased he can make her happy like nobody else.

"Or maybe I'll see you in a car," she tantalizes, and he drops a kiss to her cheek, just like how he used to.

"A shower?" Percy contemplates.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "My desk."

"The kitchen counter."

" _With_ food," she adds, her eyes glittering.

He laughs. "Birthday cake?"

"Birthday suits and birthday cake." She cracks a smile.

"The beachside."

"Underwater," she counters.

He draws in a sharp breath. "If you don't stop…"

She grins boldly and has the audacity to wink. "I wouldn't complain."

"Greedy," he teases, pushing her curls out of her face.

"Insatiable," she agrees and kisses him sweetly.

…

Annabeth sits, swinging her legs comfortably as Percy tags another nurse shark, humming as he works. She's not frozen in fear, at least not with the nurse sharks anymore, though she still refuses to touch them. Percy strokes the shark's back sweetly, though, before moving to the next one.

Calypso left about two weeks ago, and she even said goodbye to Annabeth, ever the kind soul. Annabeth understands now why she and Percy make such a good team; their personalities are so similar. They're both relentlessly snarky, but friendly, and sweet, and genuine, and she loves Calypso, and she even bade her good luck before she left.

Percy glances up at her, probably feeling Annabeth's eyes on him, and he smiles shyly, and she wants to squeeze his face and trace his dimple—he's so adorable.

"Do you want to pet her?" Percy's question catches her off guard.

"What?" she sputters, warily eyeing the nurse he's currently patting like a domestic pet.

"Pet her," Percy repeats softly. "You're not so scared of nurses anymore, and I thought maybe you'd want to pet her. She actually has soft skin, and you won't get hurt."

"I don't know," Annabeth says truthfully. Part of her, surprisingly, actually wants to, but it's a battle against the blind fear.

Percy, sensing her ambiguous feeling, swims over to her, the nurse shark still sidled up by him. Annabeth jolts backward, pulling her knees close to her chest.

"Percy," she warns, panicking slightly.

"Look at me," he instructs, and she does. They breathe again together, in and out, in and out, just like they did when she swam across that pool in Florida, and she feels her anxiety slowing down. "Give me your hand," he softly demands, and she extends her arm. His eyes never leave hers, and he turns it palm-down. He rubs gentle circles on the inside of her wrist.

"Percy, please," she begs.

"I won't make you if you don't want to," he promises. "But I think you can do this."

She nods, silent with fear. She watches obsessively as he brings her hand closer and closer to the nurse shark. When her fingers make contact with the slippery skin of the shark, she breathes out a sigh of relief. The shark is entirely unbothered, seeming not to have even noticed her contact, and her hand is far enough back from the shark's face that she's not _too_ scared, and sure her breathing is kind of shallow, but it's okay—she's not going to faint; Percy's right there if she needs him.

Annabeth's lips part in surprise. "It's soft," she realizes, and he can't help himself from smiling so wide, and it's contagious. Slowly, he lets go, and she strokes the shark's back slowly, tracing the smooth skin with awe. After a couple minutes, the shark slowly edges out of her reach, and she draws her hand back. Percy leans back in the water, propping his elbows up on the edge.

"Neat, huh?" He smiles dorkily at her.

She grins at him like a kid, her heart still racing, but her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Thank you," she permits, and he just reaches up to kiss her on the cheek before going back to tagging them with tender care.

…

"Oh, I can't watch." Annabeth covers her face with her hands, still peeking between her fingers with horror.

Calypso pats her back reassuringly. She's back in town for a little bit a couple months later to check up on Percy. They both stand together on the dock, watching people make sure the boat's fastened tightly to the dock for safety reasons. Calypso's back, and—

And they've found a great white in the Gulf of California. A rarity. It seems it's not migrating up north, and they can't understand why, and Annabeth thinks she's going to throw up. Percy thinks it might be injured, but that can only make animals more temperamental, and he's going _diving_ with the goddamned thing—his idea, of course. She tries not to worry about him when he goes off to exotic locations, but it's in her blood to worry, and he worries her more than anyone else she's ever met: he's a risk-taker, and he's reckless, and he does crazy, dangerous things, and she _loves_ him, okay?

Annabeth can't stop cursing under her breath as Percy slips into a wetsuit. Everyone's on high alert, and because everyone else isn't completely at ease, and she's not the only worrier right now, that only sends her worry into overdrive.

"Fuck, why are you letting him do this?" Annabeth asks desperately, looking to Calypso. She only shrugs, her forehead crinkled in concern, and if _Calypso_ is worried, then Annabeth's going to have a fucking heart attack.

"He kept insisting. He says it looks like a female, and he's right. That means she's probably going to give birth soon if she can make it up north-east, and we need every pup we can get. Great whites _need_ them, and Percy wants to check if she's not migrating because she's not healthy enough to make the journey, or if we need to intervene and somehow direct her there."

"Fuck him for caring," Annabeth groans in turmoil, covering her face again as they give him flippers and goggles. "Oh my god, I hate him so much."

Calypso laughs nervously, kindly, but _nervously._ "Me too."

Annabeth chews on her lip so much it bleeds. She can't even _ask_ what happens if it attacks him because she's so afraid she'll jinx it or something. Calypso squeezes her hand comfortingly, and Annabeth thinks her own nails are probably hurting the other project manager, but Calypso doesn't complain at all. She too has fallen quiet with great focus and concentration.

"Hey, Cal, we need you over here. You're the only one qualified to call any shots," a guy with dark hair jokes, and Calypso nods at Annabeth before leaving her to stand alone.

"Hey, Fletcher, let that girl crush your hand, won't you?"

A young, blond man glances at Annabeth with sympathy. "Her first time seeing him do something stupid?" Calypso only laughs in reply. "I'm Lee Fletcher," he introduces himself, "and this is my hand," he says kindly, and Annabeth laughs nervously at his joke, taking it eagerly and appreciating his support. "And you honestly get used to seeing Percy do all types of shit, but he's a stubborn guy, and it's hard to talk him out of that shit. I've only seen Calypso succeed once. Other than that, he kind of does as he pleases."

Annabeth's grateful for him talking. It helps ease her mind. She nods stiffly, and he squeezes back, the pressure helping as well. She never takes her hands off Percy.

"Tug on the rope, Perce, and we'll pull you up immediately, okay?" Annabeth hears Calypso grilling Percy as he sits on the edge of the boat, ready to jump into the water.

"He's going to be okay, right?" She turns to Lee for reassurance, and Lee nods, albeit reluctantly. Her face screws up with fright.

"Annabeth, right?" Lee finally asks. She barely nods. "Look, Annabeth, Percy's gotten all types of crazy shit happen to him, and he still never lets it keep him from trying again and again. If he gets hurt, we have medics on site. He's going to be okay in the end, no matter what happens. My dad always liked to say that a storm would never keep a fisherman at shore, and Percy revels in that philosophy. Look at him go."

People clamor about, talking on radios, Calypso surveying the cameras and the waters intently as Percy slides into the water, the elastic around his waist grounded to the boat securely. Percy swims quickly and easily, cautiously approaching the shark.

"About four feet," someone calls from her left, and Calypso's barking out orders Annabeth doesn't even understand, and Lee's words don't keep the fear completely at bay, but they help. She watches over the cameras and then actually at the water as Percy comes close. He hangs back, about three feet away from this large predator, and Annabeth can barely breathe.

Percy's voice comes over the speakers, the radios, and everyone's on high alert. "She's definitely carrying a pup," Percy says calmly, and Annabeth's grateful. Mundane news is good news. Lee never lets go of her hand. Her stupid boyfriend-idiot swims closer, observing curiously. He points to the swell around the shark's stomach, and Calypso observes critically.

"First contact!" someone calls, and sure enough Percy's gloved hand brushes across the shark's back fin. Annabeth tenses, but nothing happens.

"Oh, fuck," the audio curses, and Annabeth probably crushes Lee's hand to death, but Percy's not cursing because he's injured. "Fuck, Callie, do you see that?" At the bottom of the shark's stomach there's a blatant injury, and it's a dark shade of red. "Looks like some dolphins got to her when she was weak with pregnancy."

"Percy, that looks really bad," Calypso says over the radio. "Where do you want to go from here?"

"I want to see if it goes all the way around her belly. It could injure the babies. I bet she's really in pain, and so she hasn't migrated yet."

"Percy." Calypso hesitates, making eye contact with a couple people on the ship. Whatever she's going to say dies on the tip of her tongue, and she shakes her head and says nothing more. Percy approaches cautiously. The shark's probably about nineteen feet in length, _massive._ A couple dolphins hang around him, swarming him almost protectively.

"Dolphins are known to attack aggressive sharks," Lee tells Annabeth, and it helps a little. She tries to think of the dolphins as Percy's body guards, like they'll protect him if this goes awry.

Percy ducks underneath the shark, careful not to get caught in front, and the cameras move with him, showing off the injury spans all across the stomach. Percy curses more. "It's bad, Callie."

"Percy, get out of there," Calypso finally says. "It looks like hell, and you know we're not allowed to treat her, or she'll become dependent on humans. If she even suddenly decides she doesn't like you, you're going to get snapped in half. She's big for a female."

"How big do females get?" Annabeth finds herself asking, her voice quivering.

"Twenty-ish, twenty-one feet," Lee says softly, and she nods, terrified.

Percy hesitates. "Okay, I'm coming out." He begins to swim back, only a few feet away from the boat. He reaches for the elastic, using it to help him get out faster.

Both Calypso and Lee let out a breath, and Annabeth realizes they were much more afraid than they were letting on.

And then the dolphin bumps into the shark, and the shark _snaps_ at it, its huge, pointy teeth coming into the frame.

"Percy!" Calypso calls out, and everyone's scrambling about, reaching for the elastic.

The blood drains entirely from Annabeth's face. It's like watching her brother drown all over again, only this time it's the love of her life, and it's not drowning—it's swimming with one of the deadliest creatures of the ocean.

Lee runs out of her way, leaving her alone to help save him. He's cursing about dolphins as he sprints to the boat. All hands are on deck, desperately trying to pull Percy's line in.

The other dolphins are on edge now, watching their friend battle the badgered shark. And they jump in, three versus one. It's an even match. The dolphins get in a few good hits, but the shark gets close to killing them, and its sharp teeth cut at one of the dolphin's fins.

"Fuck!" People are cursing and shouting aboard, and the cameras are shaking wildly.

"Percy, get the _fuck_ out," Calypso's desperate. He's almost to the boat, but they're fighting so close, and one of the dolphins accidentally hits him so hard the slap vibrates underwater. He's going to be all bruised up. Annabeth is only able to watch in silence and horror.

"They're going to kill her, Calypso!" Percy curses over the audio. "They're going to kill her and the baby."

"Percy, it's one shark, and she was already going to die! Get _out!_ " Calypso's face is red with fury and fright and everything in between. The dolphin hits him again, and then he's cussing like a sailor over the audio. Percy touches the boat, and his hairline is _red_ , Annabeth realizes, probably from the blows. She's shocked, paralyzed, and she can't even make a sound anymore, only watching with wide eyes.

Five or so people haul him out, dripping wet, and the elastic tugs, and Percy nearly slips and falls back into the water.

"Cut it! Cut the damn thing!" Calypso's shouting, and someone tosses her a swiss knife.

Percy fights against the elastic, but the dolphins and shark are tangled in it, and it's pulling him out of the boat and back into the water. He tries to unlatch it, but it's twisting and jerking in a million directions, and he can't get it off.

He flips back into the water, his back slapping painfully against the surface, and everyone's screaming but unable to afford completely panicking, not when Percy needs them.

"Calypso, don't you dare!"

She dives, no gear or anything, straight into the water.

Lee's screaming over the side of the boat, and the elastic nearly slides out of another man's hand. He ties it down hastily to the boat. "Don't start the fucking engine; don't scare the animals further; the shark will try to flip the boat!" someone yells.

Calypso's cheeks are puffed up as she tries to hold her breath, and Percy's taking his breathing mask off, shoving it onto her face. She's furious, trying to stop him, but he covers her mouth with it before she can stop him, giving her the oxygen to concentrate. Now Percy's holding his breath, still being pulled in all directions as he tries to still for the elastic. Calypso saws at the elastic, and Percy's bleeding and without oxygen, and she gives it one last cut, and it tears apart, leaving him loose.

The dolphins are shrieking, the shark trying to rip them apart. The shark is dying, and they're stabbing her at 18mph with their bone snouts. Annabeth watches the blood swirl around the fight in the water, the shark's strong jaw latched onto one of the dolphins as it oozes red.

Percy and Calypso drag each other to the boat, and Percy gasps desperately for air as his head breaks over the surface of the water.

Lee reaches for Percy, but Percy hoists Calypso up first, knowing she's not even wearing gear. He kicks strongly, swiftly in the water, sputtering and coughing as he grips the metal of the boat, trying to climb aboard. Someone helps Lee pull Calypso onboard, and two other guys heave Percy onto the boat. The medics are scrambling about, checking Calypso for injuries—she has none—and attending to Percy's quickly purpling bruises. They're so bad there's dark blood spots under the surface of his skin, and his hair is bloody in the front.

He coughs, and someone pulls his goggles off his face.

"CPR?" someone asks someone else, but Percy's shaking his head, letting them know he's okay.

Calypso's face is flushed with exhaustion, and she's shivering as Lee wraps her in a towel.

Percy winces as a medic bandages him up, and he's still peering over the side of the boat. "They're going to choke on the elastic," he's saying to someone near him, and Calypso's squeezing his hand so hard it probably hurts, but she probably thought he was going to die.

Annabeth's knees feel like jelly, and she sinks to her knees, barely aware of the people running around at shore near her, reporters, onlookers, employees. All she can concentrate on is Percy's face as they patch him and his laceration up. And of course he would still be worried about the animals despite the fact that he could have _died_. The blood soaks through the first bandage, and they use another to try and stem the flow. Calypso collapses against him, shaking, and he hugs her so tight, and Annabeth can only make out him mouthing 'thank you,' and 'that was so stupid, but thank you.'

His face morphs with Malcolm's in her head, but he's alive, he's alive, and he's bloody, and he's probably in a lot of pain, and people are wrapping ice around the fat bruises, but he's okay, and then it's just Percy's face.

…

Percy's freed by the medics nearly half an hour later. Annabeth's slumped in a nearby chair with a mild headache, probably from the shock she just went under, and everyone's talking, trying to make sure everyone's okay. Calypso ended up cutting her hand on accident with the knife after Percy was bandaged up, but they washed out the injury quickly, and it wasn't any worse than a kitchen injury, and they call the research a day. Nobody wants Percy to go back into the water today, especially Calypso who hugged Percy as gently as possible for at least five minutes, and everyone's a bit shaken. Surprisingly, Percy's mostly unaffected, except for his wincing from the pain.

He walks off the boat, Calypso trying to support him until he convinces her he can walk okay. There's a towel wrapped around him, and someone's given him clothes, so he changed out of the wetsuit to avoid irritation.

He approaches Annabeth cautiously, his forehead and hairline bandaged up, and compression bandages curling around his severe bruises.

Annabeth's trembling, and she's aware of Calypso apologizing to Lee out of the corner of her eye for jumping in and scaring the shit out of him, and she's hugging him, sincere, and then they're fading out into the distance, and all she can focus on is Percy. She thinks she's finally out of emotional shock, but that doesn't keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks when she sees Percy standing in front of her, bandaged and banged up, a serious expression on his face.

"Annabeth."

Someone taps Percy's shoulder, interrupting them.

"Percy, man, I thought we were never going to see you again," he says, echoing Annabeth's thoughts. He gasps and sobs, no longer able to hold back tears. Calypso's eyes are red-rimmed next to him, and she pats him on the back. She's without a doubt seen Percy in worse situations, but that doesn't keep her from being unaffected.

"Every time you almost die, I almost die," Calypso agrees gently, looking up at Percy with glossy eyes.

Percy frowns, horrified or mortified—Annabeth doesn't know which—then after a beat, envelopes both the crying boy and Calypso in a hug, holding them close. He doesn't balk, even when Calypso cries a little. He asks her how her hand is, and she says she's perfectly fine, and she makes him promise to call if he needs anything, anything at all while he recovers, and he lets them go, and then it's just him and Annabeth.

"Percy," Annabeth whispers, her voice barely audible.

He looks at her guiltily. "Are you okay?"

Finally the tears begin to cascade down her cheeks too. He's here, he's fine, but she can't move. Why would he even ask that to _her_ after almost dying? "Me? Oh my god, Percy." She spreads her arms, gesturing to his injuries vaguely, and her actions are jerky and uneasy, and she's blubbering pathetically as tears stream down her cheeks.

He moves towards her, and somewhere deep inside, Annabeth finds the strength to stagger to her feet and bolt into his open arms.

"Shhh," he whispers and holds her, burying his face into her hair and inhaling deeply. She raises her tear-stained face to his, and he kisses her far too briefly. She gingerly hugs him, and she resists the urge to crush him with a hug. He's badly injured, and it would hurt him, and she would never dare hurt him.

"Hi," he murmurs.

She feels the lump in the back of her throat burning. "Hi," she whispers back.

"Miss me?"

"A bit."

He grins, but it's weary, probably from all the pain meds they put him on. "I can tell." With the gentle touch of his hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop pooling and running down her cheeks.

"I thought… I thought—" Annabeth chokes.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, and it's the greatest relief in the entire world to hear him call her stupid pet names. "I'm here, and I'm sorry." He kisses her chastely again.

"Are you okay?" she asks, immediately cringing at the stupid question, and she releases him to touch his chest, his arms, his waist, reassuring her that he's here, standing in front of her. Percy just regards her intently.

"I'm okay," he promises, "and I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank god." She clasps him around his waist again, and he hugs her once more to the best of his limited ability. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Yes."

Annabeth walks with him to the closest restaurant, going slowly for his sake—though he seems more slow from fatigue than from pain—and some people discreetly glance at him, probably having seen all the chaos outside. It doesn't help that the local news is reporting all of it on the TVs in the restaurant.

She orders pink lemonade, his favorite, to get some sugar running through his system and a hearty burger, and she picks up the bag, refusing to let him carry it to the car.

She drives him home that afternoon while he eats and drinks slowly in silence, and she takes him to her apartment so she can watch over him.

…

"I can take a shower on my own, woman," Percy complains, and she knows he's probably fine, but she's shaken, and she's projecting her worries onto him, fussing over him.

But he winces, and he allows her to help him take his shirt off.

Annabeth freezes at the bruises. They're darker now with a couple hours under their belt, and they're terrible.

"They look worse than they feel," Percy whispers, breaking the silence, taking her hands into his reassuringly.

Annabeth blinks reluctant tears from her eyes at the sight. "Percy," she sighs, and she falls apart again. He kisses away her tears, and she feels guilty for feeling upset and thus making him upset. She knows it hurts him to see her cry, but she's unable to control it at this point. She's not a crybaby, not by any means, and she doesn't even usually cry at her own fears, but her biggest fear of all time is people she loves leaving her, and it's too much to handle. She's exhausted and emotional, and he's injured and tired, and they're quite the pair. Annabeth sniffles, helping him into the shower.

She sits on the closed lid of the toilet, the shower curtains drawn for his privacy, just in case he needs her.

…

They lay in her bed that night, turning in early at barely ten pm. They're quiet, his head on her chest, her stroking his hair, him gently rubbing circles on her palm.

"I thought I was going to die too, you know," Percy admits so softly, and she's relieved. It's not like she _wants_ him to cry or something, but he's been so serious and quiet since that afternoon that it scared her a little.

"Really?" she whispers, and she kisses the top of his head. "So you were just brave for everyone else?"

He half-smiles. "I'm always brave," he reminds her teasingly, but it's breathy with exhaustion. He shuts his eyes, red from lethargy. "But yes," he finally adds. "For a few awful moments, I thought I was never going to see you again."

"So it really _was_ bad then?"

"Yes," he agrees. "It's certainly not the worst I've faced, and I wasn't attacked or anything crazy, but at least when you're attacked, you know to fight and all that junk. I can't fight drowning from being pulled under by a tangled cord," he points out.

Annabeth tenses, frowning. "I thought you were going to die too, especially when you put that oxygen mask over Calypso."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to make you think of…" he trails off. They're both thinking of her brother, and he doesn't need to say it. "But she had nothing, and she was choking, and I'd die before I let anything happen to her. She's… the greatest friend I could ever ask for," Percy quietly says.

Annabeth nods. "I don't blame you for that. You're selfless—I know that—and I'm not surprised you tried to save her first. I'm always proud of you, you know that."

Percy nods slowly, stiffly, against her, and she runs her fingers through his hair some more. He seems to find peace in the motion, and she thinks it's helping him feel sleepy.

"And don't be sorry," she adds, albeit quietly. "You can't control who dies, and who lives, and you were just fighting for your life, Perce. You just need to rest; don't worry about me."

He cringes cutely. "I just… I'm sorry I scared you," he amends. "I know things go wrong sometimes—that's just the way this life goes—but you were just starting to get over your fear, and I bet you're never going back in the water again, are you?"

She chokes out a half-laugh, half-sob. "Not anything but manmade," she confirms, and Percy chuckles.

"That's okay. I get it."

She smiles. "But I think I already came to that decision a while ago."

Percy nods. "You've had a lifetime of water, I think." And Annabeth silently agrees.

"How do you do it?" Annabeth finally asks. "How do you nearly die a million times and go back out again?"

Percy thinks, his eyes still closed. "You probably think I'm crazy, but… every time I slip into the ocean it's like going home," he says, a rueful smile crossing his face. "It makes me feel tiny, but not in a bad way," Percy explains. "It makes me feel small, and humbled, and like I'm part of something bigger than myself. It's like… every bit of the ocean counts. All these drops add up to make something beautiful and reckless. And sure, there's always bad days. There's crazy man-eating creatures, and miles and _miles_ of uncharted territory, and I won't lie and say I'm not scared out of my mind sometimes, but my dad likes to tell me that you can't control the sea, but you can learn to ride the waves, and you can learn to let it control you in the best way possible. And you can't—you'll _never_ reach that heaven if you cling to the shores and the sand, and you're afraid to lose sight of land. And even if it's a cloudy day at the beach, and it's storming, and the sun is nowhere to be found… at the end of the day, it's still a day at the beach. And it's enough."

He opens his eyes, still, looking up at Annabeth curiously. And she thinks of how the ocean always kisses the shoreline, even after being sent away time and time again, and she thinks of her dedication to overcome her fears, and she thinks of Percy's can-do attitude and unwillingness to give up on the sea, even after being dealt a shit ton of crappy cards, and how he's still going to try and save those beasts, even if they try to rip him to shreds because he loves the world unconditionally, and—

"You're insane," she agrees after a beat of silence. "And I _definitely_ think you're crazy," she teases, but it's tearful and pathetic. "But you're my crazy, and if you're into this reckless shit, then I'll support you forever."

"You think?" Percy breathes, an anxiety-ridden expression overtaking his features. "Even if I lose a limb," he jokes, "and my skin is dry from the sea, and I'm not as pretty as I used to be?"

She spots the glistening tears in the corners of his eyes, and she feels tears well up in her eyes as well. Her hand covers the scar on his stomach reassuringly. She's not afraid of her feelings, not with him, and she never will be again. " _Always_."

He pulls her down in a kiss, and she easily complies, cherishing that this is another day, and he is alive, and he will be okay, and _they_ will be okay, and like he said: sometimes it's a stormy and cloudy day at the beach, but it's still a day at the beach, and she never wants to let him go. They fall asleep like that, their hands intertwined like children, and they find peace in the silence of the night and in the comfort of one another.

…

"A quarter of a century," Piper cheers, and Annabeth laughs as she blows out the candles. "My favorite twenty-five-year-old bitch."

Thalia rolls her eyes at the brunette, and Jason cracks up. Frederick only flushes at Piper's unashamed crude language, and Magnus laughs at it, entirely unbothered. Frey hides a childish smile, and Natalie rolls her eyes at him.

She feels old and young at the same time, the smoke of the candles drifting up in the air as everyone cheers. She's young in the ways that matter, and she can see herself growing old every time Percy scares her half to death, but then she sees the blue cookies he's baked for her, and she sees the smile on his face, and he makes her feel alive too, and he's not going anywhere for _two_ months because he says he wants to be home in California long enough for it to actually feel like home before he runs off again, but he'll always have a home in her, she swears by it, and looks around at these people—some of whom she's known her whole life, and some who are newcomers—and she knows she loves them with every inch of her fiber.

Her mom made her decision to leave over a decade ago, and Annabeth can't control who wants to leave; her brother accidentally left almost two decades ago, and Annabeth can't control who has to leave; but these are her friends and family for better or worse, and she loves them despite their faults.

"Open mine first," says Percy, pressing a small box into her hand.

"Oh, Percy, you didn't have to. You already baked me cookies."

But he only smiles; she knows he's very proud. She looks up at him, trying to deduce what he's put in there, and then smiles to herself before carefully peeling open the wrapping of the tiniest box—she doesn't want a papercut.

She opens it, and there's three little white seashell rings, pearly and peachy on the inside, and on the outside… Percy hand-carved them into different shapes. The first one looks like her first building in Texas, the second one looks like Antoni Gaudí's 1883 cathedral known as La Sagrada Familia, her all-time favorite architectural project, and the third one… is a caduceus, the symbolic image for hospitals.

Annabeth glances up at him quizzically.

"Nurse," is all he says shyly, and her eyes light up with understanding. She beams so wide her cheeks hurt.

"Percy, they're lovely! You made them yourself?" She slips them over her fingers almost immediately, and she's not surprised they fit perfectly. "Is this why you were asking me for my ring size a couple months ago?" she teases, smiling up at him. "You had me worried there for a moment, but I totally forgot about that."

Percy's cheeks go pink at the idea of them getting married, and he laughs, covering his face. "Yeah. I wasn't buying a ring, I promise."

Frederick chuckles at the idea, and Annabeth just rolls her eyes at her dad and aunt and uncle, all of them amused.

She holds up her hand, and Piper admires them excitedly. "Oh, they're so sleek," she teases, gently shoving Percy. "My approval," Piper decides, nodding, and Annabeth snorts, calls her an idiot, and moves on.

"Thank you," she whispers up at Percy.

"Happy Birthday, Wise Girl," he murmurs, and he kisses her in front of everyone, and Thalia and Magnus make noises of disapproval and disgust, and her aunt claps politely like the old lady she secretly is, and Piper whoops, and Jason's blushing at their lack of shame, but Annabeth really doesn't care who's watching.

Percy told her it's always a day at the beach, cloudy or otherwise, and when it's a sunny day, she's going to appreciate it for as long as it lasts.


End file.
